I hope Macy's sells MuuMuu dresses in my size. I can't wait to get an Auntie Anne's pretzel or three. And how is Spencer's still in business--doesn't matter, I'm buying a disco ball this time.
Here's what I thought as I got out of my car at the Oxford Valley Mall.
Should I take my shepherd's staff or not? Without it, I'm just a guy in a blue bathrobe--and that's weird. And can my bathrobe pocket hold my phone, camera and car keys?
I opted to take the staff, and I proudly marched into the mall as a shepherd, wearing a hooded sweatshirt, a pale-blue bathrobe, jeans, flip-flops, and toting a tree branch as my trusty staff.
What could possibly go wrong?
Let me start at the beginning, however. After compiling my ensemble and before Daniel left for school, I surveyed the home crowd.
"Do I look like a shepherd?"
"A weird shepherd," said my wife Linda.
"The best shepherd Yardley's ever seen!" I countered.
"I don't think Yardley's ever seen a shepherd," replied Daniel.
I may be a shepherd, but Daniel was a prophet, gauging by the reactions I got all day.
"One of those days, huh?" said a father at the bus stop as he eyed my attire.
My first shepherd's tasks were to herd Daniel to the bus stop and then herd all the kids onto the bus. Done and done.
So I set off on an early-morning walkabout to continue my shepherd duties. The local bike shop owner saw me and said with a laugh, "Is that your usual morning get-up?"
"I'm a shepherd," I said, stating the obvious.
"Good," he said. "Yardley needs a little more spice."
No, what Yardley needs are more sheep.
With no sheep, my Facebook friends provided ample suggestions for possible herding options. Turtles, adults, kids, trees (?!?!), ducks, geese, shoppers, shopping carts--there seemed to be hope!
Unfortunately, I was unknowingly playing a game of hide-and-seek against the world--and losing badly since I couldn't find much to herd.
All I encountered was a jogger, a cyclist, and a small cardinal I tried unsuccessfully to herd.
I considered trying to herd cars along Main Street, but that's not a shepherd's job. That's being a parking attendant, and who'd want to do something so silly?
Since the sheep weren't coming to me, I decided to go to the sheep. In the suburbs, that means the mall.
On my drive, I saw a flock of 20 or so geese meandering near the road, so I jumped out and herded them across the road and safely into Lake Afton.
Or maybe they just waddled to the lake when the creepy-look abbot wannabe headed their way.
Anyway, I reached my destination, walked through Sears, into the mall itself, and headed down the escalator to begin herding.
I suppose not surprisingly there aren't a lot of sheep or people at the mall at 2:15 on a Monday. The place was emptier than a birthday party for John Edwards.
I guess to the untrained eye, a flock-less shepherd could be a sad, pathetic, perhaps even dangerous-looking character.
Which is probably what the security guard riding a Segway on the upper level thought as he looked down on me.
With Linda's pre-mall warning ringing in my ears ("Don't get arrested!"), I suddenly pictured myself in a small mall holding cell with a purse snatcher, a shoplifter, and a goat-herder.
Thankfully, the goat-herder would save me from embarrassment. I mean, clearly goat-herders are the bottom of the barrel, so we'd have a laugh at his expense.
While mall workers gave me odd looks, and the security guard kept pace from above like an unwanted guardian angel, I ducked into a sneaker shop.
As if a shepherd would need sneakers...
The move got me out of the guard's view for a bit. I then continued my herding search, happily whistling an appropriate song ("Baa, Baa, Black Sheep").
But wouldn't you know it: the guard found me again. And now he was clearly tracking me from the upper level, following my moves closely.
Wait, that meant only one thing: he was trying to herd me to the exit! And it was working. He was forcing me where he wanted me to go.
Oh, the irony of the shepherd being herded against his will.
And the guard didn't even have a staff!
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