Cookies for the teachers. Cookies for the kids. Cookies for my husband, who insists he doesn’t need any cookies, who says no until the children harangue him and make sad pouty faces until he agrees to try one, okay, FINE. Cookies for friends, and cookies for the freezer. I WILL FIX THE WORLD WITH COOKIES.
Today I’m doctoring a recipe to create a whole new cookie, because that’s just the kind of day it is. Listen, I normally keep a generous stash of butter in my extra freezer, and today I had to go buy more. There are a lot of cookies happening here.
I have decided that if you want to be a car salesman, the first thing they do is drop you on your head repeatedly. (Unless you work for Saturn. Those salespeople just have to get their teeth whitened in preparation for all the friendly smiling. Maybe they get hand-shaking lessons, too.) Otto is trying to trade in his current car and upgrade to something slightly more trip-friendly, as his car is very small and my (slightly larger) car has started behaving a bit strangely and we’re feeling like driving it over a thousand miles in the snow might not be a great start to our holiday season.
Now, call me crazy, but I thought right now would be a STUPENDOUS time to trade in a smallish car for a largish car. I thought that the fact that we keep walking into EMPTY dealerships with lots that look like ghost towns would work in our favor. Because—and really, I could be mistaken here—it just SEEMS TO ME that not many people are buying cars right now.
However, thus far the experience has been exactly like every other car buying experience I’ve ever had, except more annoying. The car in question is on the lot for X number of dollars. Otto offers X – Y, let’s say, with Y being a fairly sizable deduction off the sticker price, but the sticker price is high and these things are generally negotiable. (This incorporates a trade-in of his car based on reasonable market value, of course.) Now, that’s the point where the dealer should come back with a higher offer, right? Something LESS THAN Y but MORE THAN X – Y?
First the dealer comes back with “Well, here’s what your monthly payment would be.” That irritates the SNOT out of me. We didn’t say “give us a target monthly payment.” We said “this is what we’re willing to pay.” Also, those numbers are pulled out of someone’s ass because how do they know what rate we might qualify for? And what’s the term on that loan? So Otto politely explains that he’s not interested in a projection on a monthly payment, he’d like to pay X – Y, can they do that?
Well, the dealer wants to talk to their wholesaler, who is out until the next day. So we leave. The next day they call and say that it’s all set, they’ll happily sell him the car for…
… are you ready for this? …
X + Y. They are such sports!
When Otto pointed out that they were now offering to sell him the car for OVER STICKER, they were very confused and slightly offended. And then they checked the numbers and said Oh, right, hang on, that’s an error. Let me get back to you.
Then they called back and offered to sell it to him for X. You know, the sticker price.
Yeah. Um. Do these people actually sell any cars this way? I’m genuinely curious.
Hey, guess what we don’t have! Right! A bigger car! So, um, if we’re coming to see you for Christmas? There’s a bit of mystery built in for you—either we’ll have both kids and no winter clothes to wear or some clothes and only one kid. I’m making them draw straws to see which one has to stay home, because I really dislike being cold.
The current house rule is that your room can be as disgusting as you like except on designated “room check” days, which happen to occur on the first and third Fridays of every month. The rest of the time I just close my eyes and pretend that you don’t have fifteen billion Lego bricks or dolly hairclips strewn all over your carpet. But this agreement hinges upon said room-owners keeping the common areas of the house sufficiently tidy.
Said room-owners have recently allowed their playroom to become a cesspool.
So I took a break from baking cookies to COMPLETELY LOSE MY SHIT, yesterday, at bedtime, and soliloquize about how THE DEAL WAS they keep the common areas clean, and THIS IS NOT CLEAN and I GET NO RESPECT and also YOUR MOTHER DRESSES YOU FUNNY. Furthermore, someone likes to comb out the dollies’ hair and leave hairballs on the floor (ewwwww) and someone else has apparently been keeping the empty toothpaste tubes since the beginning of time just in case there is a sudden global shortage of empty, twisted, sticky toothpaste tubes. AAAAAARGH.
My children were duly chastised. Do you know what their solution to this problem was? I made them go to bed right after my rant, yesterday, so they decided to clean it all up today. AT FIVE THIRTY IN THE MORNING. I would like to call that sweet and industrious, but instead I can only call it a damn unpleasant way to wake up, to the sounds of stampeding elephants above my head, as the kids “quietly” set their mess to rights.
I had to praise them for getting up early to do it, though. Even though I had to prop my eyelids up with toothpicks while I did.
I have to go make some more cookies, now.