Yesterday, Paul and I went to the Home Show. I've never been there before...I don't own my own home (yet). Paul is a homeowner, and had been blathering that this show was a great thing to do. It was his idea to go, which should be shocking because he's not the planning type when it comes to outings.
We meet down at the Plaza because it is somewhat of a central location, and relatively close to Bartle Hall. Paul sniffs at paid parking and says he has a better place to park...absolutely free! He drives to his top secret spot and sees that everyone else in KC had the same idea. So we go further. Ten blocks later, we find a spot and make the LONG hike to Bartle Hall.
Men don't like to pay for parking anymore than they like to ask for directions.
The Home Show has 650 vendors, selling everything from siding to kitchen spice. Upon entering, we notice a big banner proclaiming "Free Wine Tasting Area". Paul thinks this is the best place to start off. We are immediately seated by an older gentleman who at some point had been eating crackers because it was still wallowing around in his mouth. He produces 3 bottles of white wine (all with very low alcohol content), and these little cups that are the exact shape and size of the plastic med cups I use at work. Each cup will hold 1 oz of fluid. We sample each of the wine. Cracker Man produces 3 bottles of red wine. We sample those. He brings out this smaller bottle of some Irish cream type beverage, and we sample that at least 3 times to make sure we like it, and decide it was the tastiest of the drinks. It would go really good on vanilla ice cream.
Paul starts giggling uncontrollably.
I'm not scared because my high tolerance for alcohol is world renowned. I did ten shots of tequila on a beach in Mexico and it didn't even phase me! I'm impervious to inebriation, which I owe to coming from strong alcoholic stock!!
Apparently, wine is a bird of a different color; not to mention that I failed to eat breakfast that morning. Soon, I'm giggling also...for no apparent reason. I calculated that we each drank approximately 9oz of the wares they were peddling...which is just over 1 cup.
Flying high on wine samples, I am ashamed to say we ended up buying a case of wine (which cost well over $200). Paul is the big wine fan, so he can manage, but what is the hell am I going to do with a half a case of wine???
After that, we stagger down an isle and look at insulated doors, some siding, a gadget that keeps your basement dry. Paul is seduced by something called a Garden Weasel. I meander over to the booth that is selling Crocs. I buy the purple ones because I like purple and I can wear them to work. Paul buys brown ones because he doesn't want to appear uncool and untrendy.
I move on to look at Soy candles while Paul spends almost an hour talking to some guy about buying a shed. I buy a candle. Paul walks away empty handed.
We tour a designer home and Paul almost soils himself when he finds out it is a modular home. I learn that there is a difference between a modular home and a mobile home. I feel enlightened.
We are free from the aftermath of the wine tasting station when we come across a concession stand. The pink slushy foo-foo drink looks good so we each get one. I am only able to drink about a third of mine because it looked better than it tasted, so Paul finishes it off after he is done with his.
Surprise, surprise...he's sauced once more. Once again, I find myself in the position of the sober person leading the drunk people to safety.
We stop at a both and this girl is selling those sticky roller things that collect pet hair off your clothes (of note, it is called a Mr. Sticky). I have an interest because I own a small, furry zoo. Paul stands next to me, swaying back and forth. The girl invites someone from the audience to "touch her Sticky". Paul begins laughing...loudly. The girl either is either that dense or she's just ignoring the obvious, because she doesn't understand why he is laughing. She resumes her sales pitch and tells us that if we buy the regular Sticky at the show, we get a compact Sticky for the car, and WAIT... we also can get the guy for the big jobs: The Big Sticky...on a Stick!
At this point, another vendor walks by Paul (who is barely able to compose himself) and he mutters, "I thought she was calling me by my nickname." Paul doubles over, laughing insanely, with tears streaming down his face. Everyone is amused by the drunk guy in the corner who is a about ready to pee his pants. Paul sings loudly that he is officially drunk. Everyone looks at me as if I am responsible. I just shrug.
I bought the Sticky Roller and all his friends. I also bought a mop, a rubber broom, a couple baking pans, almost purchased a knife set, and picked up a bunch of free crap. Paul buys just as much as I did, plus he comes a hair away from adopting a Greyhound.
We stayed until the show ended, which was 9pm, 3 hours later than we had planned to stay...and we didn't even look at everything. In a matter of 8 hours, we purchased a shit ton of things and were carrying it around like pack mules. My feet were very, very tired, and I was starting to get cranky.
By the end, Paul had overcome the power of the foo-foo drink. I pale as I realize that not only is it butt-cold outside, but we have to carry all this junk we bought TEN BLOCKS AWAY to his car, in the dark, downtown KC. I petition that we should call a cab, but my petition is denied and we hike back to his car, looking like we just robbed a band of Merry Maids.
After a nice Mexican dinner, I am deposited back to my car, and I go home. Paul calls to make sure I made it home okay, and lets me know likewise. I announce that next year, I am going to shell out the $7 to park closer.
And I am not going to stop at the wine tasting table ever again!