Gift Cards, Gift Cards Everywhere and Not a Cent for Me.

I understand those poor sailors from Coleridge’s poem.

My daughter, Bonny Annie, received approximately 42 gift cards for her recent 13th birthday, most of which were for Target.  And she won’t let me use them.  Not even one.

It’s not fair.  We go into Target, my favorite store.  I buy trash bags, baby cereal, coffee creamer.  She buys lip gloss, Converse tennis shoes, a cool hat.

I say,  “Bonny Annie, let’s go look at stuff on the scrapbook aisle.”

She says, “But Pirate Mom, I don’t scrapbook.”

“But I do,” I reply.

“Mom, you haven’t scrapbooked since 2007.”  And then she adds a funky scarf to her shopping basket.

Cruel.  It’s cruel, I tell you.  I mean she wouldn’t even have a birthday if it weren’t for me.  I should get something!

I’d download some Fray songs with that one, and maybe a little Jim Croce.

Don’t even get me started with what I could do with that one.  Oh, the injustice.

I have Monday morning plastic envy.

(Please forgive me for not having posted the contest results yet.  I will do it later today.  My weekend was a little busier than I had anticipated.  Sorry…)