Help a Chicken Out

So we went grocery shopping at Wal-Mart today. I typically don't go to Wal-Mart because even though I'm not above throwing away my aluminum cans, using paper plates for almost all three meals, and actually buying my own food and furniture (God bless Oprah for introducing me to Fregans), I am aware enough to know that Wal-Mart is really a bad idea for our entrepreneurial society. But today as I roamed the aisles of Wal-Mart in search of the cheapest bottled water I could find (the irony is not lost on me) I noticed that Wal-Mart is really trying to change my impression of them. They are selling "green" cleaners and a surprisingly large selection of organic items. They also are selling cage-free eggs.

Yes, that's right folks. Cage-free eggs. I really can't help but giggle thinking of this campaign to free the eggs, as if the eggs are themselves living in tiny little cages that are so small that they can't even develop the muscles in their little egg legs. Heehee.

Of course what the product is really endorsing is eggs from chickens that are not raised in cages. Ever since Mom briefly dated a chicken farmer, I can't shake the image of hundreds of dirty chickens in one cage just waiting to become my Tyson boneless skinless breast. So there I was in Wal-Mart faced with the option of buying normal eggs or the box that screamed in big letters "CAGE FREE". Come on, people! I had to spend 50 cents more to help a chicken out. The only bad thing about this experience is that I am so totally aware that they were playing to my compassionate side...and they won. Phooey on marketing; I'm a sucker.

I Love Him

My friend Heather just sent me a wonderful list of questions to answer so she could learn more about Mr. Menefee. The exercise of going through these questions was so fun and made me all the more confident that I should become Mrs. Menefee. One answer has kept me smiling since I sent the email.

Question: Describe a time when Craig was doing something at a distance from you, as in, not directly interacting with you, when you looked at him and thought, Wow, I really love him.

Answer: We went to Wal-Mart last Saturday to buy bullets for his new gun which I was going to shoot at the shooting range. There was a young black teenager wearing an obviously handed-down suit-- complete with a safety-pinned waistband--standing behind a table at the front door. He had a great smile and the look of a kid who had risen above the rough times he had seen. He very politely asked Craig if he would like to buy a gospel CD to sponsor a trip he was taking with his church. As I was very practically thinking, "Neither of us like gospel music," Craig graciously pulled out $20 and said, "SURE!" He then asked the kid what he thought the best CD was and the kid just grinned more and handed him one and said with enthusiasm, "This one is definitely the best." Craig told him we'd listen to it as soon as we got back in the car. As we drove down the road, with bullets in tow, listening to gospel music, I realized again that I love him.

The Place

Hallelujah, we have found the place!

On a lot where Craig used to rabbit hunt and on a porch where I posed for a picture some 20 years ago, Craig and I will become husband and wife. A man who made his money in the blue jeans industry, has spent some of it building a village out Ellerbe Road. He moved an old country store from Highway 1 (chump change to buy it, serious cash to move it) and fixed up an existing structure to create Hill Country Village.

The land is about 1/2 a mile from where Craig's grandfather owned a farm of several acres. Craig, apparently, spent a lot of time out at the farm with his grandfather and often would go hunting near this land. Strange, huh? Just wait.

Assuming good weather, Donna and I decided Craig and I will get married on the front porch with everyone sitting in folding chairs in the courtyard. Now, Donna and I had already decided this and looked at the entire property by the time Mom and Randy pulled up. We go back through to show Mom the space and when we walk into the store, Mom says, "I've been here before!" (With my mother, it didn't surprise me. She seems to know everything and have been everywhere-- and about 80% of the time, she's not full of malarkey!) Come to find out, when this building was on Hwy 1, it was an old architectural antiques store that my mother had visited on occasion. In fact, she swears there is a picture (scratch that, slide) of me on the front porch of this store!

It must be the perfect place! And as for the picture, we'll have to find it so we can put it up at the wedding. Maybe Craig can find an old rabbit skin to hang next to it! :)

Brides by Betty

Mom warned me. She told me Betty was difficult.

I found the perfect dress. It has French lace and eyelashes (for those of you not in the know- sniff- you'll just have to wait to see). It also has a hefty price tag.

Enter Betty. After years and years in Sherman, TX Betty is closing shop. Because of this, the beautiful dresses she has are selling for 50-60% off. How could I refuse a quick look-see. Mom and I walk in the door and are promptly greeted by a non-Betty. This girl was all of 25 and pleasant and helpful and knowledgeable. The only trace of Betty I saw was her pantyhose and nice skirt (no 25 year-old working in a bridal salon would wear that by choice). We quickly started trying on gowns and I forgot about Betty-- until the scissors came out.

As non-Betty zipped up one of the gowns, the zipper split all the way down. I was stuck. Non-Betty called for Betty. Betty comes in, looks at the dress, and then walks out of the room. As I stand there feeling exposed, literally and figuratively, Betty comes back in with a pair of scissors obviously reserved for serious sewing. She begins to cut the dress and I feel a pierce of my skin. Non-Betty exclaims, "Betty, watch out!" as she moves the tip of the scissors out of my skin. Betty apologizes, although not profusely, and cuts me out the dress. Much to my horror, I discover that this Betty is not actually THE Betty of Brides by Betty, but another lady named Betty who also happens to work there. At this point, I can only imagine what THE Betty must be like if this Betty non-Betty tried to skewer me!

I didn't find a dress that rivaled the French lace and eyelashes. I did, however, manage to try on and buy a pair of wedding shoes without any comments from THE Betty. She did, however, stand in the background and sigh every time I pulled out a shoe box.

I consider this success.