Easter Treats....

This weekend I purchased myself a number of goodies in celebration of Easter. Or in celebration of the fact that I was in a shopping mall with a debit card in my pocket. Either way, I was celebrating something.

I managed to buy myself a new Roots camera case as well as some rechargeable batteries for my MP3 player. A major relief because I'm tired of running out and then having to storm the nearest Mac's Milk for AAA batteries. It's about as difficult to find tiny batteries as it is to find tiny bras, let me tell you.

I also managed to pick up a size XL Roots sweater that was on clearance.

Roots tends to be a touchy subject in this house, much like me discussing my love of gay people getting married or my infinite love of all thinge related to veganism. The thing is that my father hates Ross Rebligatti.

(Refresher: In the Olympics, he won the gold snowboarding, but then had his medal taken away for testing positive for drug use, but then had his medal re-instated. Then Roots started sponsoring him.)

Clearly, the first step to being the rebel child who hot boxes the downstairs bathroom with my father's grandchildren in tow is to purchase Roots apparel.

But here's the thing: I really don't support people who use drugs. I really try NOT to engage in activities with those who have an ever-present white film surrounding their nostrils, or one of those little silver lockboxes under the seat of their imported car. I do what I can to avoid giving money to people with habits, and for the most part, I'm not even around the presence of drugs.

Seeing as how I do all that I can whenever I can... WILL IT MAKE BABIES DIE IF I BUY A CLEARANCE SWEATER THAT'S BIG AND COMFY!?!?

So I had this big speech prepared for my dad when I got home: Like, really, it's a sweater, I'm not a stoner, and that baggie you found in my coat pocket last week was from storing the illegal cigarettes that I smoke, not from my cocaine habit.

And after I went to all this trouble preparing the damn speech, the guy didn't even notice that I was wearing an article all weekend that clearly supports the use of illicit drugs.

And now I'm just ready to scream because WHAT is the point of spending all day preparing speeches for people who aren't even going to question your motives when you buy a sweater?

All I'm craving is consistency, here, and I really don't think it's too much to ask.

Toonses