“Hey dad, who is going to be our new president?”  asked Aiden on our way back home after he and Parker had spent an entire day at Colt Care due to the kids being on winter break.  Parker was slumped over on the arm rest that divided the two of them, sound asleep.

“New president, what do you mean new president?”  I thought he might be wondering who was going to unseat Donald Trump in three years, which seemed a bit advanced for a seven year old.

“Don’t we get a new president, it’s presidents day today.  Is it going to be that women that mom likes?”

“You mean Hillary Clinton?  Don’t go telling your Grandma Jansma that, she is liable to never speak to your mom again.  Unfortunately, your mom was one of the few people who actually liked her which explains why she lost to Donald Trump.  I don’t think she can be president buddy.”

“What about Abraham Lincoln can he be the new president?”

“He’s dead so probably not, but if they exhumed his corpse I am sure he would do a lot better job than our sitting president.”

“Who is going to be the new president then?”

“President’s Day is to celebrate all of our former presidents but at this point is not a platform to put a new president in to office.  Also, on the list of holidays, it falls right between Arbor Day and Columbus Day in terms of significance.”

I’m not entirely sure how my seven year old even found out it was presidents day, and I have no idea why he thought it meant we were going to get a new president, maybe it was wishful thinking on his part, or maybe he just thought you get new shit on Christmas maybe you get a new president on President’s Day.

I mentioned winter break, and Shirley and I had a winter break of our own that was relaxing for the most part, but did have it’s moments of stress, at least for Shirley, and displeasure for myself.  I actually booked our trip to the Tampa area as a postlude to Shirley’s 40th birthday.  What I forgot about Florida is that even I, as I quickly approach the ripe old age of 44 (this Friday) feel like a spring chicken once I enter the state.  While it is great to feel young again, it is utterly depressing to go out to eat and be the youngest couple there by thirty years.  However,  if you go to dinner past 6pm there isn’t much of wait, so I guess we had that going for us.

Of importance is the fact that my kids did not accompany us on this trip, I have been to Florida the past two years with my wife and kids and have never fully appreciated that the average age of a Florida resident is somewhere north of death, I believe this was due largely in part to the gigantic distraction my children can be anytime, but especially on vacation.  I had some grand plans for my Florida trip, hit the driving range, maybe even golf, water ski a couple times, business time a couple times a day.  However, once I realized how nice it was to just hang out by the pool, read a book, and not have to pay attention to anyone, not even my wife because she was immersed in the Harry Potter series, I found it difficult to justify doing any structured activity.

My kids were with my in-laws and we called them a few times as well as face timed them, they showed about as much interest in us as Shirley had in business time twice a day.  Did it make me feel bad?  Hell no, I didn’t miss them either.  I could have easily made it another seven to ten years not seeing them, screw them!  There are a number of reasons my kids didn’t miss me, the primary one being they never hear the word no when they are with my in-laws.  To be honest, I wouldn’t have it any other way, I don’t remember my grandparents saying no to me either, (My grandpa Rozema never said anything to me, which was likely more traumatic than him actually saying no to me).  It is a blessing to have someone that we can leave the kids with and know they are in good hands, will it take weeks of deprogramming to get them to the point that they are tolerable?  Of course it will, but that’s a trade off I am willing to make to get away from them.

There was one thing we did on the trip that is a guilty pleasure of mine (it didn’t involve answering a Craig’s list ad and meeting up with another couple with similar “interests”) It was even more shameful than engaging in that type of activity, we went to the Cheesecake Factory. Man do I love that place.  People who live in cities where they have Cheesecake Factories act so damn superior to those who don’t, pretending like the Cheesecake Factory is beneath them because they could eat there 365 days a year (is it open on Christmas?  Well, at least 364 days a year) “I guess we can go to the Cheesecake Factory, if you really want to”  You know deep down they regret making fun of the Cheesecake Factory and are dying to go eat there but can’t because they drew a line in the sand and crossing it, while being quite gratifying, would also be humiliating if any of their friends and relatives who don’t have year round access to the most amazing chain restaurant known to man, found out they ate at such a trivial eating establishment.  And I’ll be honest, I could eat there 365 days a year, there are that many menu options, I guarantee you that no other restaurant has that diverse of a menu.  Mexican, Italian, Asian (without the fear of eating cat disguised as chicken) all under one roof.  I had their meatloaf once and I couldn’t eat it all, not because it wasn’t amazing, because there was so much and it was so filling.  You know how hard it is for a Dutch person not to eat all of their food at a restaurant?  I waddled down Michigan avenue back to my hotel that night in complete and utter regret because I ate too much but didn’t eat enough.

I am convinced that if a Cheesecake factory was to come to West Michigan it would be one of the few that didn’t need to rely on tourists as the primary source of revenue.  Dutch people wouldn’t be able to get enough of the factory, reasonable prices, large portions, incredibly tacky decor.  Love it!  After we hit the Factory we toured the mall that it was attached to and were awe struck.  Let me start out by saying this, it had a Tesla dealership in it.  That right there sent off a warning that pretty much any store in that mall was likely out of my price range.  I have learned that its best not to go into stores in these high end malls if you have little to no familiarity with their product.  This is especially true if there is no one in that store.  Why?  Because, at least in my case, if I go in a store, look at a price tag and it’s ten times the highest price I have ever paid for an item of clothing I have a hard time remaining calm, and usually run out of the store, or at the very least, break into a light jog.  (Not sure why this embarrasses me, because I will never see that retail clerk again, but it does).

They had a Robert Graham store:

This is a Robert Graham shirt I pulled off the internet.  It’s currently for sale at Nordstrom’s for $348.  Now when I went into their store, which admittedly I shouldn’t have, I had an inkling that their shit was expensive but had no idea their clothing cost more than a fun filled night at a high end gentleman’s club, I guess at least you have something tangible when you shop at a Robert Graham store, but that shirt can’t elevate your self esteem as effectively as a high class stripper.  Furthermore, Shirley was with me, and I knew there was no way she would green light a Robert Graham purchase, even if it was on a deep discount.  She had no idea what price range the shirts would fall in and pointed to a shirt she thought was snazzy, as did I.  I fumbled with the shirt and pulled out the price tag only to discover it was going for a reasonable $198.  I made a joke about it to Shirley since we weren’t the only ones shopping in the store as we quickly proceeded to exit the store.  Upon leaving the store Shirley wanted me to assure her that I wouldn’t go and buy a Robert Graham shirt from Nordstrom’s rack just so I could have a Robert Graham shirt.  She constantly tells me there is a reason stuff finds its way to the Rack, and that reason is because no one in their right mind would wear it.  However, to my credit, I have made some amazing finds there, also some mistakes, but the keepers outweigh the items I have never worn prior to donating them to Goodwill.

There was one store I knew wouldn’t be out of my price range, Banana Republic, plus everything in the store was 40% off.  (makes me wonder how much of a profit margin they have on their regularly priced clothing).  I managed to find a pair of pants originally priced at $170 marked down to $82.99 with another 40% to be taken off at the register.  I am no math whizz, but I am pretty sure the price of the pants would get me maybe one of the sleeves on that hideous Robert Graham shirt pictured above.  Furthermore, it was about time my go to Banana Republic slacks (that seems like something my wife’s grandma would say) were supplanted and these were just the pair of pants to do it.  When I was checking out I mentioned to the clerk what a screaming deal the pants were, and in the back of my mind I was wanting to ask her for the names and phone numbers of all the people who paid full price for those pants, so that I could call them and gloat.  Seriously, who pays full price for anything?  Typically when I enter a real store (not TJ Maxx, Marshals, or The Rack) I immediately head for the sale racks without even bothering to look at the the clothes that are not discounted.

While finding such a deal on pants as well as 40% off on three shirts was extremely gratifying, those deals coupled with the stuff Shirley bought at the outlet mall we also visited resulted in our one suitcase being over the specified weight limit by tens of pounds.  The overpacked suitcase, my slalom ski, and Shirley’s desire to be at the airport three hours prior to boarding was hurling us towards  a sequence of potentially catastrophic events………(To Be Continued)