WICKED BIG THINGS ON RATHER SMALL SHELVES

 In my continuing saga of retail shopping, I just want to say that while I am pleased stores are stocking inventory, it would be nice if they stocked inventory people actually needed, like toilet paper, oatmeal, cat food. Instead, in addition to last week's pot-head plant containers, I am mystified this week by:

Wicked big things on rather small shelves!

My sister and I are on one of our usual shopping adventures. This one involves a craft store. To be honest, neither one of us needs any more crafty type materials or supplies. The difference between my sister and me is that she can actually knit and sew and do crafty stuff. I can knit rectangles, sew a semi-straight line, and hot glue my fingers together.

I am not totally sure what crafts these might be for, but we encounter ceramic trays. Okay, I suppose someone talented could paint them or do that cri-cri thing to them, but I am not quite sure what to do with a glass plate that says "Nice buns." Ummmm, thanks . . . I guess. 

I am equally mystified by the giant cheetah heads. No, folks, these are not planters. They're heads. Just heads, like something you'd come across in a furniture store as decoration in a living room display. Random giamundo cheetah heads just waiting patiently to come home with me. Unfortunately, those sort-of grinning animals will be sheltering at the store for a while longer.

There are also humongous wine and martini glasses. Okay, I totally understand these. These could be centerpieces at a really tacky wedding or incredibly inappropriate baby shower. Or they could use them as candy holders at meetings for people with the DT's. Or I could just buy one and say, "Here's my one-a-day glass of wine. Bully for me!"

I think, however, my favorite giant find of the day has to be the incredibly large buttons. I don't mean big buttons like Tweedle-Dee wears on his suspenders to keep his checkered pants up. I mean buttons the size of Duane Johnson's head. These things are bigger than dinner plates (plates that don't say "Nice Buns"). What on this great and ridiculous Earth could warrant a button that large? And how would I sew it on (if I could sew)? Would I use a hawser? I can see it now. I run up to the nearest tugboat (assuming that I might be near to one), and yell, "'Excuse me, may I steal your tow rope? I need to sew on a button for Goliath."

Maybe it's me, but I really want to see things like food or batteries or meat returning to shelves. I'd like to see clothing and writing utensils and glue return to shelves. But, I guess in the meantime, while I'm stuck sitting on the potty waiting for the toilet paper aisle to be restocked yet again, I can stare longingly at my cheetah head while toasting with a super-sized martini using the button as a coaster and think, "Wow, it's a great day to have nice buns!"