A Paper Bird in the hand

Have you ever gone to any of the hobby/weird stuff store. Here they are called The Hobby Hut and back home in Washington, they are called Michaels, or something along that line.

Recently I have discovered the joy of going through spare change and looking for rare and usual coins. I grant you so far the only rare coin I have found was a peso, which actually is not at all that, odd, considering where we live.

So off I head to the hobby place, to find some holders for the coins, I know I will someday find. The sheer amount of stuff in these stores is beyond description, or prior to my visit, imagination. It seems to be floor to ceiling fake flowers, fake trees and a very strange section entirely devoted to scrap booking. The smells are overwhelming. It’s a bit like going to your weird aunt’s house, you know the one who had her cat Fluffy stuffed, and now keeps the darn thing on the coffee table nest to the velvet couch.

I also notice I am the only male in the place. This may explain the strange looks I received from a number of “dudes” sitting in their vehicles in the parking lot. All of them looking impatiently at their watches while all the while smoking a cigarette, I should have sensed their dread.

The place is crawling with women of every description. There are seniors, who slowly work their way along the crowded aisles. Many using the shopping cart, as much for a walker, as a place to deposit their paper and silk carnations. There are young moms with their children and some teens. By far there are mostly middle-aged women roaming the plains of plastic land. They seem to look at me in a way that makes me feel a touch uneasy. The “cougars” give me the feeling I’ am at some very twisted singles bar, and happy hour is about to begin.

I finally find the coin collection section. It takes up about a 3-foot by 4-foot section in the back corner of the 2-acre store. I keep waiting for Rod Serling to pop out from behind the 8-foot fake palms at any moment.

As I make my way to the cashier I happen to notice a pair of older women browsing the pressed flower sale. They were in a heated debate over some item that I have no clue as to “What” it might be. I most have stared too long. The taller of the women stood up straight and glared at me. I glanced away just in time to read the bold print on her Tee Shirt. Someone’s grandmother had her feelings on life spelt out rather well.
“Don’t ask me, I don’t know shit!!!”

So much for the warm, fuzzy, crafts feeling.