This is my favorite time of year because it gives me a chance to show off my freakishly accurate ability to know exactly when post-Christmas sale prices are slashed from the pedestrian and uninspired 50 percent off to the infinitely more rewarding 75 percent off. Or more.
I hate to brag, unless I’m awake, but the fact is that at this time of year and for the next two weeks or so, I am not unlike the Great White Shark, which can sense even a tiny amount of blood in water up to 3 miles away. Yes, when sales “blood” is in the water, I’m the first one to circle the bargains before pouncing on the kill that is the 80-percent-off cashmere sweater or elegant tree skirt. Don’t hate me because I’m amazing.
Perhaps I could more accurately be compared to the mighty eagle, which can spot a rabbit, poor hapless bunny Foo Foo, 2 miles away, hence the expression “bunny eye.” No?
Verily, just as the arctic wolf’s ruff stands on end when prey is close at hand, the hair will stand up on my arms and other places where I really shouldn’t even have hair as my intuition tells me when the FINAL CLEARANCE signs are being installed.
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It’s God-given; you can’t learn it.
Friends have noticed that so profound is my “sixth sense” (“I see sales, people”) that I will stop talking in mid-conversation along about this time of year and I will motion to them to be quiet as well. I will raise my chin and scan the skies, catching the scent of the sale.
Finally I will say aloud to my friends: “Did you hear that?”
“Oh, nothing. Just the sound of prices being slashed is all.”
What can I tell you? I am a honey badger in the middle of a flock of clueless chickens. I use my powers for good, though. When you open that butter-soft scarf next Christmas you will have no idea that I basically paid three bucks for it.
I leave my friends silently and immediately. Because, like the buzzard that happens upon the carcass of an unlucky deer beside the interstate, I know there is no time to waste. If I don’t move quickly and immediately, others who are actually in the store could get all the good meat, I mean deals.
It happens every year and it explains why every Christmas ornament in my house, every bit of holiday froufrou, was a minimum 75 percent off and most of it in the 80- or even 90-percent-off range.
Once at the store (and yes, my talent tells me which store to go to; I’m like the Long Island Medium, only real), like the great horned owl, I swoop in, grab the object of my desire in my long yellow talons – wait, no – and steal into the night.
Enough chitchat; I gotta go. Oh, Target, you are so aptly named. I’m on my way.