This morning, I woke up and thought to myself, "I should go to the DMV and renew my license today!" (This is what I think while I'm still in bed? Clearly, I've gotten boring.)

I ate breakfast, grabbed IDs and a couple books, and headed out the door.

The DMV I chose to patronize is in a mall. I hate malls. Luckily, it was 10-something on a Saturday morning when I arrived, so parking was easy and the place wasn't mobbed. Still, I could feel my shoulders creeping up toward my ears. I walked into the DMV about half an hour after they opened. There was a line, but it moved pretty quickly. I sat down and filled out my form. I pulled out my book: Storey's Guide to Raising Poultry. (I finished the book about rabbits last night. On to birds!)

Let me tell you, reading about raising poultry while sitting in a DMV at the mall is a surreal experience. Almost as surreal as reading about permaculture while lounging on the deck of a cruise ship, which I've also done.

Got called to the counter. Answered a couple questions, smiled without showing teeth for the camera, paid my money, and I was on my way. Whew! Glad to have gotten that over with. Now let's get the heck out of the mall-- OH! Wait, what's that over there? ...

BACKSTORY TIME: At Twin Oaks, there was a thing called Commie Clothes. It was like a library, but for clothing. Any member could wander in, browse, grab a few pieces, and leave. When finished with the clothing, said member could deposit it in the laundry bins and it would be washed by one of the lovely Commie Clothes workers. Through Commie, I realized that I have a fondness for H&M. Their stuff tends to fit me well. I like the look. And, as I discovered when I left TO and started having to pay for clothes again, it's pretty cheap. I never though TO would help me form a brand loyalty, but there you have it.

... It's an H&M! Alright, alright, fine, so I decided to stay in the mall for a bit. I wandered through the store. I contemplated buying swimwear. I tried on swimwear and decided it looked terrible. I did buy a couple miniskirts and some tank tops, though, because summer's coming, and I like to look cute. (The other perk of summertime is that I don't have to dress "appropriately" for the kiddos. Miniskirts and tank tops, ahoy!)

OK. NOW it's time to get the heck out of the mall. Cool. I'd parked outside Macy's, so I headed Macy's-ward and eventually stepped out into the sunshine. Hmm. It looked a little different than I remembered, but maybe it's just because there were so many more cars now.

Where was my car? No, really, where was my car?

I wandered up and down a dozen rows or more, frowning and periodically pressing the red button on my key that is supposed to make my car honk. No luck. After 15 or 20 minutes of this, I called my parents to a) discuss plans for the weekend and b) very coolly ask for tips for finding one's car in a massive parking lot.

As it turns out, there are two Macy's at this particular mall. Why? Why would any mall need TWO Macy's? I guess I'd gotten a little turned around in the H&M and headed to the wrong one.

Back into the mall, which was by now oozing with polo shirts, acne, and credit card debt. Back out into the sunshine, where I found my car in short order.

The moral of the story, kids, is that malls are terrible and designed to trap you inside them forever, where they will slowly transform you into an Abercrombie mannequin, except that you'll be fat from the frozen yogurt and Subway sandwiches.