Farm King Fabulous

Joe and I lead a rather parallel farmer to farm wife relationship. Because of my lack of experience and knowledge, there are very few things that I have to do that are farm related. Don't get me wrong, I am directly affected by what is going on at our farm, but I am not a combine driver, or a cattle woman, and rarely am I entrusted to be a part getter. We have enough people and vehicles to get what needs to be gotten by the getter who actually knows what he or she should be getting. Do you get?

Anyway, there are times that I do have to run to the Farm King for little things. No, they do not carry the fabulous purple Hunter rubber boots that I am thinking I need to get...not to go wading out in the muck to sort calves, but to have the potential to do so, and still look awesome.

I'm digressing.

Back to Farm King.
 
Now, it is no secret that I am comfortable shopping. I can waltz into Neiman Marcus or Saks on Michigan Avenue and browse the racks without skipping a beat. However, why is it that when I am requested to make a stop at the Canton, IL Farm King, I get a little uneasy? Is it the store's layout that makes me nervous:  having to wade through the camouflage recliners, past the cake decorating and greeting cards to get to the snow tires? Not really. I love the hunt. Is it the fact that my 6 year old could tell me where to find chore gloves amidst the Columbia fleecewear and dog toys? Maybe a little. But really, it's mostly because, yet again, I stick out like a pair of white pants on a gravel road. My walk has no purposeful stride when I get to Farm King because this is foreign ground to me.

However, I have decided to make myself Farm King Fabulous. I will not be intimidated by the seven kinds of yellow flannel chore gloves, all with red elastic wrist bands. I will not be scared off by Carhartts and Dickies and Berne (Verne? I can't remember.) outerwear. It will all become a second language to me.

I will conquer you, Farm King.

I will navigate your crazy store layout, no longer meandering aimlessly through the Vespa scooters (yes, they sell those there), paint and greeting cards. I will walk with a purpose to my correct section of the store, and I will get what I need to get for Joe and have it be the correct thing.

Maybe.

And if not, I'll know where to return said item, and do so with ease.

Maybe then, the guys will trust me to go to get parts...