Sunday, Tuesday – Whatever

You’ve been to Tuesday Morning, right? It’s sort of like an upscale version of what Big Lots used to be when it was called Big and Small Lots. They get weird stuff at discounts because those things were never a big sales hit, perhaps because they were a little odd, and then they sell that stuff at a discount.

In the neighborhood where I live I am within walking distance of both Big Lots and Tuesday Morning. I go to one quite often (Big Lots) and the other less frequently. In fact, I usually only go to Tuesday Morning when I am down to one box of Typhoo tea so that I can buy three or four more boxes. It’s better tea in a higher quantity at a better price than what I can buy anywhere else. So.

Morning fuel

Anyway, yesterday I was there and I took a photo of the tea I was buying because it had what I thought was bad math on the box.

Oh, I know: how could someone like me even pretend to know incorrect math from correct math? Well, it turns out I can pretend pretty confidently. I sent the photo to a friend of mine who is good enough at math to be an accountant, and waited for her praise.

I knew I’d probably messed up MY math when she responded, “This is a good thing, right?” instead of, “Oh, well. Everyone makes mistakes, I guess.”

(Because she is not – and was not raised to be – the type of person who would ever point out a mistake by saying, “OMG! Stupid much?” even when something is very stupid.)

Long story short: she explained to me that the packaging was correct in the sums it advertised. I was a little embarrassed, especially since just the day before she had patiently done the math for me to figure out how much PTO I could expect per month based on what I had accrued in the last four months. And by patiently, I mean she didn’t send me an eye roll emoji before sharing a figure she arrived at in less than  a second.

I’m not sure where I was going with this. Oh! So, whenever I am walking toward the entrance of Tuesday Morning I always, always get the tune to “Sunday Morning” by the Velvet Underground in my head, where I let the lyrics change to “Tuesday Morning.”

Honestly, now that I’ve written that I don’t think that’s where I was going with this.

Maybe I was going to talk about the fact that my friend who is such a math whiz sent me a photo of a trash can she had once bought at a Tuesday Morning 800 miles away from here.

In my head I had a pretty funny blog post composed, a sort of This-Not-That-type of list regarding the attractiveness of her Tuesday Morning trash can versus the use of trash cans in general. Somehow the word “spittoon” got stuck in my head, probably in the “Not-That” column of my list. But maybe attached to an image of Martha Stewart if she had lived in the pioneer days when old women were known to “take snuff” and smoke corn cob pipes.

Yeah. It just needed to be released onto the screen.

But I’ll never write a post like this since that friend is a super-quiet, very private person whose greatest fear is that someone will call attention to her in some way. I’ve already said too much.

I gotta go, now. Bye!