Jingle Bell Rock - Nancy Sherer

No matter how many times I hear Jingle Bells, it still makes me want to dance. Not a real dance, of course, but a bouncy, wiggle-my-shoulders kind of dance as I ponder how many versions of this song will be played before I finish shopping.

But the song Frosty the Snowman is the stuff that nightmares are made of. And that's just the melody. Have you ever listened to the lyrics? A snowman comes to life and leads children into traffic until law enforcement intervenes. Then comes the creepy ending where the supernatural hybrid of snow and coal melts away with the horrific warning, 'I'll be back.'

I had other revelations at the mall yesterday. One sweet and charming young woman washed my hands in magic salt. I don't know if she used the actual word, 'magic' because she had a heavy Israeli accent, but she certainly implied it. The salt came from the Dead Sea in Israel, the Holy Land. It was (unintelligible words that went on for half a minute) and look at the water that rinsed off the salt! It was dirty!
She was so soft spoken and humble that I couldn't just walk away after my laving habits were shown lacking right in the middle of a crowded mall, so I asked her how much a bottle of the salt cost. Eighty nine dollars, I think she said in her heavy, soft and seductive accent.

“What?”

“But just for you, seventy nine dollars.”

As I tried to decline she said she had to show me something and gently, but firmly, herded me to the end of kiosk. There she proceeded to show me a very informative brochure about the Dead Sea, and in case I hadn't noticed on my own, that the salt was from the Dead Sea in Israel. Before I could walk away, she said 'thirty nine dollars' as a handsome young man, probably her husband, joined us.

As he offered me his business card, I suddenly remembered that I was allergic to so many cosmetics that I just wouldn't want to take the chance of using something that might make my fingernails fall off. And hurried away as politely as I could.

Magic salt. Now that is something to think about.

The cashier who sold me a sweater noticed that it was exactly the same style as the one I was wearing. She wasn't being rude, just observant. I explained that it was my favorite style of sweater and I had been buying every color of it that was available since before she was born. Okay, I didn't think about that until just now, but it is true. I have a drawer full of these sweaters that I only reluctantly part with as they become natty. Once she realized that I really wanted more sweaters that were alike, she was eager to help me find more in my size and various colors. After all, they were on super-sale just then. I had already gone through the rack, so I saved her the time and left.

At this point you might be wondering, where was Jerry all this time? Doesn't he just love shopping at the mall?

Yes, he does.

We parted right after he took the bags of socks and a blender out to the car. I can't shop with him because he takes every little remark about his purchase choices as a criticism. I try to be understanding as I say things like, 'What is the use of a key finder? I'd just lose it,' or 'I bet they manufacture junk like that just in case someone is really desperate to burn their money.' He is entirely too sensitive to my opinion for us to shop together.

I had been roaming the mall for an hour, so I was concerned about how much junk he had found. I was worried. I have to fit things in closets until a reasonable amount of time passes so I could throw it away. Now that I had found my treasures, it was vital that I find him quickly and lure him home with the suggestion of lunch. Hurray for the cell phone, and we arranged a central meeting place.

I approached him from the food court satellite. On the tile that marked the center of the mall, he stood happily holding plastic bags dangling in all directions. He obviously had had a glorious time. And to think the sale season has just begun.

And that's the Jingle Bell Rock.