Mom is a compulsive shopper, and will buy anything if it’s a great deal. This was very handy when I lived in the city – I didn’t buy toilet paper, toothpaste or dish soap until I was in my mid-20s, because I would simply go home and raid the mighty stores of mom and dad. She doesn’t have as much room these days to store a warehouse worth of paper goods – god help us if she ever gets a Costco membership – but she is likely set for tissue paper and potato chips for life.

It’s not just household goods, either. She was very excited to show me the 3 or 4 shirts she was wearing to keep warm – “only $6!” – and the many, many hoodies and weird-coloured capri pants bought for 95% off because very few people can pull off teal and peach without looking like a festive Easter leper.

Every time I come home, I have to make room in my vehicle because mom likes to give me things that she finds on sale. I’ve recieved untold numbers of no-name bath sets (and the male equivilent for Ed, random shaving kits); enough to perfume most of Hastings St. This trip is no different – so far, she’s given us:

a frying pan (it’s very deep)
a knife (we each had to give her a quarter in exchange for the knife, for good luck)
a rather nice fuzzy couch blanket thing
a bed-in-a-bag set (for a bed size we don’t have, but I will find a use for it)

I don’t have the heart to tell her we don’t need this stuff, because she collects it in between visits and she does mean well. I’m glad I’m not on my scooter this time, though – she gave me a frying pan LAST time too, and it looked very weird coming out the side of my saddle bag.

It just wouldn’t be a trip home if I didn’t come back with a carfull of weird stuff.