The DemiGoddesses both achieved the pinnacle of their young lives last week. As in, they both finally got their iPods.
Christmas contributions from many of their extended family members, along with the not-a-Shuffle cash I had placed under the tree for them (in boxes, and wrapped, because I had to watch them open SOMETHING), plus the money they both have been saving for months all added up to the three of us making a trip to the Apple store at the mall.
The place was packed with post-holiday shoppers redeeming their gift cards and buying up all kinds of electronic goodies. As we waited in line, DemiGoddess the Younger twitched and wiggled and occasionally made little squeaky noises. When our turn arrived, she told the young man behind the counter that she wanted a 30 GB video iPod. White, please.
Her voice was clear and decisive, but she was hopping up and down and vibrating, which the employee seemed to find amusing.
“How will you be paying today?”
“Cash,” said DemiGoddess the Younger.
“What?” he asked, looking confused.
From her little corduroy Old Navy purse, Ms. Younger produced a fat roll of bills, which she handed to the man. As he blinked at it in astonishment, she then pulled out a mason jar half-filled with silver change and set it on the counter. A look of panic spread across his face.
“She’s been saving for a while,” I said. “Just add up the bills and I’ll write a check for the rest. I can take the change to the bank on the way home.”
That transaction completed, it was Demi the Elder’s turn, and she wanted a PRODUCT (RED) 4 GB Nano, the one that Apple will donate $10 of the cost of to the Global AIDS fund. The Apple store man seemed relieved that her wad of bills was slightly smaller, and that this time there was no jar of change.
From the Apple store we went to the bank (to empty $28 from Demi the Younger's mason jar into my account), and then to purchase protective cases for each of their new treasures—Demi the Younger’s a blingy, silver metallic wallet-style thing, and for Demi the Elder, a clear plastic case that the red is visible through.
All the way home in the car, Ms. Younger raved about how long she’s waited for an iPod, and how she couldn’t believe she finally has one, and she couldn’t wait to get home and charge it up so she could download all the songs from every one of her CDs that she has stored on our computer at home. She asked if she could please use my credit card number to set up an iTunes account, if she PROMISED never to buy any songs without asking me first (“Absolutely not.”). She also vowed that she will never, ever, take her beloved to school. We’ll see.
After buying the iPods and the cases, neither of the Demis had enough money left to purchase the $29 wall-charging cords, so for now they have to take turns charging their perfect precious-es through the USB port on our PC. Later I griped to My Ho about what an insidious racket this whole iPod thing is—you pay a sizable amount of cash for the unit itself, and then they nickel and dime you to death with cases and wall charging cords and docking stations until the cost of the whole mess pretty much doubles.
He offered the services of his Youngster’s friend Sam, who can allegedly build a docking station from scratch.
“Is this the same Sam who got in trouble at school for making a taser out of a smoke detector?”
“He made the taser out of a disposable camera.”
“Yeah. No thanks.”