Bad Idea Jeans.

I remember a fake commercial from Saturday Night Live many years ago. It was selling 'Bad Idea Jeans'. One guy was saying (I can't remember the actor) something like " You know, I think I'll tell my wife about that affair I had with the babysitter. Heck, it's been over for almost six months! Bad Idea Jeans." And some other great funny examples of bad ideas. My beautiful step-daughter Rachel is fifteen. I've been a stepdad for five years. We were aimlessly driving around the Front Range the other day while Bridget was getting Lasik surgery. We drove to Castle Rock. Yuck, too new and burbed and barbed and gated and chained out for me. Took a left east and drove for Franktown. I was just looking for Main street. As we approached, a sign welcomed us to historic Franktown. That's what I'm looking for. Historic. I didn't see any. The burbsprawl juggernaught had chewed Frank up and puked 'em out. There was a tractor dealership though. I caved. Seems that thirty miles south just isn't enough miles anymore. Much more south and we'd be pile driving into that bastion of neocon, fundamentalist, republican, right-wing extremism, Colorado Springs. Best just give it up and drive back toward the megalopolis and get something to eat at oh, maybe a Chili's or an Applebee's. Mmmmmmm. We didn't eat. I'd rather fast than slow-fast-food. So we take the big new four laner north. We are not on the interstate, but in this case, same diff. As we approached Parker, there it is. A sign. It says Main Street. Sweet! Before we even parked, Parker proved to be a bit too brand new. "Main street," well, it wasn't the one I was looking for. Sure, there's a little gingerbread on the porchs. Yeah, the sidewalks are sort of like boardwalks. There are some genuine fake saloon doors and everything. 'Course they didn't lead you into a 'saloon'. They led you into a salon. What a difference an O can make. It was friggin' hot. The frillydilly sign said Coffee & Books. We entered. Looking for books, not coffee. Rows of pulp paperback trash insulted us mercilessly. The people sitting and sipping fit the faux. We had seen a sign for a pet store. In a quickly thought saving-grace move, I asked the barristra where it was. I acted like that's why we had entered. She pondered all friendly like. Thumb on chin looking up at the fan. It turned slow lazy and did nothing to the air. Returning to earth with a gentle back and forth nod suggesting no, she indeed said, "No, I don't know of one anywhere around here. But you should ask Linda next door at Panache. She's been here for two years. She would know." We departed. We didn't ask Linda. We found the pet store. This is the maybe not a very good Step-Dad, Bad Idea Jeans part. I'm also a complete animal lover. In a different situation, we would have all kinds of critters, as my Mom (Mammacat) does. The place was filled with the cutest god-damned puppies ever. "Duh, no shit Steve." And we zero'd in on the one above. I told Rachel all the parent things about how to please realize that most likely we wouldn't be getting another dog right now. I told her all the reasons as I fell in love, right along with her with this little heart-breaker, big-eared Yorkshire Terrier. Rachel thought of a name for him. The perfect name I admit. 'Link' from Hairspray which we had just seen the night before. We never ate. We stayed there 'cause it was only going to be harder to leave the longer we stayed. We stayed. We went back the next day with Bridget. Bad Idea Jeans. I took pictures of him, Link, even with Rachel. Extra large Bad Idea Jeans. We didn't eat that day either. We got dang close though, up in Idaho Springs at BeauJo's Pizza. We were even seated. but, Rachel insisted on insisting. She couldn't cheer up. Poor kid. I gave cool Step-Dad suggestions. I finally told her she could leave or we could leave. No, she says. So I respond maturely and drop a fiver on the table to cover our drinks and walk out, kinda making a scene and I could give a shit. Damn, I could have used saloon doors then! Anyway a big ol' cry, yell, scold, hug, laugh, talk, listen session ensues. The main thing it accomplished was that we wasted a bunch of time and now we had to leave. Hungry. Ironically, we had to get to the kennel in time to get Ellie, our sweet baby thing Cairn Terrier that Rachel also named. She's four. She weighs twelve pounds. We won't be going to any more pet stores any time soon. Really kinda stupid of me. And we all, but mostly Rachel, went through heart wrenching trouble for it. So there's the next theme for Bad Idea Jeans. "Hey, I think I'll take my fifteen year old step daughter to the cutest puppies in the world pet store for two hours. But, we're not getting one." Bad Idea Jeans.