Here is my discovery for the week…
watching someone be totally confused can be BARRELS OF FUN. It can make your whole day.
Here’s what happened. And I am warning you that this, once again, may be the type of story that only I find funny, but Ima tell you anyway. Just pretend-laugh for me and I shall be satisfied.
Nordic Boy’s birthday is coming up fast. And although he is generally happy with whatever birthday gifts may come his way, there is really, truly only one set of things on his wishlist. Items from a company called Festool. Tools, tool storage, all that stuff that I have no understanding of whatsoever. Suffice it to say for the sake of this story that this brand is not readily available at Home Depot, Lowe’s, Ace, etc. It’s German-made, fancy, ergonomic, environmentally friendly, hyper-efficient, blah blah blah. Nordic Boy has the catalog and he pores over it. Salivating. Almost crying with yearning. And when there is any workplace bonus money, or birthday money, or any extra money of any kind, he’s buying Festool. And with the scarcity of anything that could be called “extra money,” that’s not very often.
Wednesday night, at around 9pm, Nordic Boy and I were chatting it up. Here’s the fun part.
(Nordic Boy opens the door. There, on the front steps, is a woman, in her 40s or so, definitely of the soccer mommish persuasion. In her hand, she holds a piece of Festool merchandise. No packaging, no box. Just the merch itself.)
Soccer Mom: (holding out the merch and smiling) Here. This is for you.
You know that confused sound that Scooby Doo makes when he’s not understanding something? AARRH?? If any sound would have come out of Nordic Boy at that moment, it would have been that. And from me too, for that matter. Who is this soccer mom fairy godmother, coming to our doorstep late in the evening, with this VERY SPECIFIC item that only Nordic Boy would want and just handing it over?
Nordic Boy: Um, what?
Soccer Mom: This. It’s for you.
Nordic Boy: But—how?—who?—I don’t—understand.
Soccer Mom: Are you Nordic Boy?
Nordic Boy: Well, yes. But, who are you?
Soccer Mom: Well, I’m coming from Mountlake Terrace (a suburb of Seattle) but my son goes to the high school down the street from here.
Nordic Boy: What? What are you talking about? Why—who…WHAT?
I wish I could convey the level of confusion. It was like Nordic Boy’s head was going to explode. Sheezus it was FUNNY.
Soccer Mom: So I figured since I was going to be in the neighborhood I would just drop this off. Here.
(Nordic Boy takes the Festool product. He looks like he has seen Santa FOR REAL).
Nordic Boy: Thanks. B-but who ARE you?
You think this is confusing so far? Are you wondering who this Soccer Mom with the ability to grant wishes could possibly be? There couldn’t be anything to add that would make this situation more confusing, could there?
Here’s what she said next.
Soccer Mom: This is a gift for you from your daughter in California.
I wish that Nordic Boy would have been taking a drink of something. Because he would have done a SPECTACULAR spit-take if he had.
Nordic Boy: MY WHO??
Soccer Mom: Have a great night!
And she left.
After some information gathering, we discovered that the item had been ordered online from our dear friend Bio-Girl for Nordic Boy’s birthday. The distributor for this area was (apparently, although this is not entirely clear) Soccer Mom, who obviously has great customer service inclinations (home delivery and friendly too!), but whose communication skills are clearly lacking. Bio-Girl assured us that she in no way indicated that she was posing as Nordic Boy’s offspring and has no idea where Soccer Mom came up with that jive.
So all is well. Nordic Boy gets a birthday gift that he adores and is reassured that he hasn’t sired a child in California that he had no idea about and who wants to express his neglect of her by buying him fancy presents, and everyone is happy. Except me. Because I was hoping Soccer Mom really was Santa and that she was coming for me next with that Lela Rose outfit I’ve been dreaming about. Dang.