Wednesday, November 30, 2016

Damn You, Hobby Lobby

"Have you ever been to a Hobby Lobby," my mom asked. "Is there even one near you?"

"There's one in Rochester," I said, "but you know I won't go there. I disagree with their politics."

My mom sighed. She knows that I will boycott like mad when provoked. Chill-fil-a? I love their sandwiches but I have amazing willpower when it comes to avoiding them. (Although, true story, I live in the frozen North now, so it's hardly difficult not to eat them when the nearest franchise is an hour away.) Wal-Mart? Not if I can help it.

"They have evvvvvverything, Yellie," she said. "Like, everything."

"Oh well," I said.


Fast forward: I had a shopping trip planned with my best friend, but we didn't know where we wanted to go. Out of the blue, she asked: "Have you ever been to Hobby Lobby?"

She hadn't been either.

"No," I said, "but I hear they have everything."

Just like that, it was decided.


Before you decide I'm a total asshole: I didn't buy anything. Before you decide I'm NOT a total asshole, I have to confess: I didn't buy anything because I was broke. I WANTED to buy things. I just couldn't.


Hobby Lobby is like Disneyland (if Disneyland didn't have a lot of small children in it and instead was about four acres of stuff) in that it is magical, but also causes almost immediate sensory overload. The place is neatly organized, but you seriously need a map. They should hand those out. Also, there are SO many things in the store that your eyeballs don't know where to look. I felt like I'd had a triple shot of espresso: completely jittery and unhinged as I was confronted with aisle after aisle of really incredible (and sometimes outrageously tacky) things.  Additionally, the store wears down your resistance in much the same way Disneyland does. As an adult at Disneyland, you may suddenly find yourself wearing mouse ears and posing with an adult dressed like a cartoon character and smiling like a lunatic. As an adult at Hobby Lobby, you might find yourself standing in front of a giant metal octopus, nearly salivating over the idea of how amazing that would look in your bathroom and in complete denial of the fact that it weighs fifty pounds and is, in fact, wider than your bathroom door.

(I can neither confirm nor deny the octopus thing.)

(Also, as I mentioned, I didn't buy anything. Especially not a giant metal, super cool octopus.)

(At least, not yet.)


I have not returned to the Hobby Lobby. Not because I don't want to, but because I do. SO BADLY. I want to go there when I'm not broke and buy all of the really nifty things that I saw ... the octopus! The shelves made out of industrial pipe that will look amazing in my (converted mill building, slightly industrial) apartment! The blown glass cuttlefish! THE THINGS AND THE STUFF!

Unfortunately, I also really REALLY want to hold on to my principles. I need those. They're important.

I just don't know if they're more important than a metal octopus.

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