Sweet Miss Jo-Lynne at Musings of a Housewife kindly asked that I step in and guest blog for her today so as to allow her some extra time with her family at a lake house in Maine.  Yes, I was jealous.  About the lake house in Maine, that is.  And the homemade blueberry pie picture that she posted.  Nonetheless, I pulled together a post that will hopefully entertain her throngs of readers for a minute.  Maybe two, but let’s not push it.  You might want to click your way over and see what I have to say about being the only one. 

I’m just sayin’.

Unless of course you found Such The Spot courtesy of Musings.  In that case, welcome.  Kick off ‘yer shoes and stay awhile.  And please be kind as I spill a deep, dark confession.

My name is Darcie.

Here’s where you all chime in with a chorus of “hi Darcie”.

Hi. 

Yeah, so um, here’s the thing.

I’m a habitual returner.

You know how our favorite retailers all used to have those satisfaction guarantees?  But then those giant policy signs suddenly disappeared from behind the customer service desks only to be replaced with strict return procedures?  Did you ever wonder why that happened?

Well, you’re looking at her.  Virtually anyway.

I’m a choosey consumer.  Someone who expects that if a dishwasher detergent claims it will leave my glasses streak-free, that my glasses actually emerge streak-free.  Nervy, I know.  When I buy three pounds of apples, for which I pay upwards of six bucks, I am not a happy consumer if those six dollar apples are mushy.  Same goes for starchy watermelon.  And rotten pineapple.

I keep my grocery store receipts just in case.  Seriously.  Who keeps their grocery store receipts? 

And you may not know this, but some grocery stores guarantee the accuracy of their price scanners.  The one I patronize, for instance, will give you the item free if it rings up for a price other than what it was marked.  And of this policy, I take full advantage.

My teenage daughter has begun taking pictures of price tags with her cell phone camera to show to the cashier.  No, she doesn’t exactly support my habit.  She just wants to hurry the process and she knows that if there is no picture proof the grocery bagger will have to do a price check.  And God only knows how long that  would take.  She’s not exactly patient, this child.

I do believe my lowest point occured last December when my husband and I hosted a New Years Eve party.   We hadn’t exactly been overwhelmed with RSVP’s and I was unsure of how much alcohol we’d need to sustain our guests until the ball fell.  So, before dropping the cash for the beer and bubbly I asked the store manager if I could return any unused, un-opened spirits.

He obliged.  Eyebrows raised, admittedly, but he obliged. 

And until that monent I never knew my husband could turn so deep a red as he did right there beside me.

That is, of course, until after the party.

I had also purchased some baked goods.  You know, because brownies and cakes are good for munching on when one has perhaps imbibed in too much bubbly.  Having done just that one of our guests commented that the brownies were perhaps a tad crusty.  Or too chewy, I don’t remember which.  And there the bowlful of store-bought, bite-size crustychewy brownies remained long after the last guest had gone home.

It was bad enough that our guests thought that I had baked crustychewy brownies.  You can bet your sweet patootie that I wasn’t going to let the crustychewy brownies go unreturned.

And that, my friends, is when I saw my husband turn an even deeper shade. 

Seeing as how like our outspoken guest, I, too, had perhaps indulged in a few too many midnight martinis, I wasn’t feeling all that great.  So my husband begrudgingly agreed to return the stale baked goods.  He walked into that store with his head hung low.  And what I wouldn’t have given to have been there when the customer service girl asked him what was wrong with the bowl ‘o’ bite-size brownies.

“My wife says theshshbushsesfruttshy.”

“I’m sorry,” she said, “what was that?”

“My wife says….sigh….”

“My wife says they aren’t fresh.”

To hear my husband tell it she practically threw the cash at him before kicking him out of the store.  I sorta have my doubts but I would have loved to have seen it myself.

Don’t shake your head at me.  You know it’s funny.

And anyway, I told you it was my lowest point.