So, I'm at Lowe's trying to buy some paint. I say trying, because the 155 year old man behind the counter seems to not only have no clue how to make paint, but also seems not to be aware he is supposed to be working. The line for paint is at least 7 people long, and he's talking to himself. Seriously, wandering around the paint mixer machine muttering to himself. One can only hope he is looking for something besides his mind.
So, I'm waiting, torn between hoping the kids don't cause too much damage running around the aisles and hoping they do, so their commotion might cause a manager to come over and see what is going on so I can complain about the employee without losing my place in line.
The slowpoke behind the counter finally waits on someone. I had noticed this lady as soon as I got in line, because she was hard not to notice. A long, obviously fake fur coat was the first thing to catch my eye. Not sure if she skinned her kid's teddy bear or what, but that coat was something else. Her extremely flourescent blonde hair next caught my attention, followed by the scent of her cheap perfume, which seemed to trail for miles in her wake. Her Wet and Wild red lipstick and bright blue eyeliner told me she was fond of the 80's. Not a skinny woman, she's wearing leopard print leggings, a far too short yellow sweater, and fake Uggs. No one over the age of 10 should wear leggings as pants! Oh, a sight to behold for sure.
But what caught my attention the most was her loud way of speaking. In an English accent. In Pennsylvania. "I'd like a gallon of this please, and be sure to mix it thoroughly and bang the lid on quite well this time, so we don't have a repeat of yesterday's problem", she announces in her English way.
I continue to study her, because I'm bored and she is fascinating me for some reason. Then her phone rings. Sounds like an Irish River Dance. She listens for a moment after she answers, then turns around and whispers into the phone "I'm at Lowe's getting paint, I'll call you in a few minutes. Leave me alone now, I have to go". In the thickest New York accent you ever heard!!! I'm even more fascinated now.
Gets her paint, thanks him and says "cheerio" on her way out of the line. English again.
Bipolar? Stupid? I'll never know but pretty sure she deserves a smack upside the head.
Thursday, February 16, 2012
Friday, February 10, 2012
Don't Judge Me!
I must admit, before I had kids, I was Ms. Judgemental. Queen of ripping others apart, for any little offense. Especially parents. My kids would never behave like that. My kids would never scream all the way through dinner in a decibel that could surely be heard on Mars. My kids would never throw a temper tantrum in the middle of the grocery store. Get your act together, you lousy excuse for a parent.
Then, I had a son. The boy is 7 now, and I must admit, he was a golden child. Not that he didn't have his moments, as all kids do, but he's so good all the time, even to this day, that I often wonder if something was wrong with him! I know, I know, shut up and count your blessings and quit bragging! The worst he had at the grocery store was a few tears when he was told he couldn't have something. He always moved on quickly. He was a prince at dinner, we could even eat out at fine dining places, and he'd be an utter angel. Sitting at the table with hands folded, ordering his own meal from the age of 2, couldn't ask for a better child. And no, I didn't beat it into him, as my father in law was so fond of asking.
Then, child number 2 came along. I can tell you, if she had been born first, she'd have been an only. She is a whole world apart from her brother. I often wonder how two kids who sprung from the same seed could be so different. From birth, she was different than the boy. She cried. A lot. He rarely cried, and if he did, he was hungry or pooped. She cried often. And loudly. For no apparent reason sometimes. Dinners out became a far too infrequent treat. She would screech all through the meal sometimes, even if someone held her. Grocery shopping, fugeddaboutit. She was OK when she was smaller, but once she could walk, watch out world! The cart could not contain her. If you set her free, she grabbed a million things off the shelves and dropped them on the floor. Or insisted on carrying them with her. She can make a mess that would rival a hurricane in 10 seconds flat.
Grocery shopping has become my most dreaded chore. I started to go as infrequently as possible. We'd be out of almost everything before I'd go. I'd stop and grab milk and bread at convenience stores and try to slide through another week without shopping. Mother Hubbard had nothing on me. Hubs was spending a small fortune in take out. But, then I'd go shop and have a cart that rivaled Mt. Everest, and she was even harder to control. So, I am currently trying weekly shopping. Smaller carts, less items needed, less time spent in the store.
So, twenty something woman child walking the aisles in four inch heels and a leather jacket, back off sister! Yes, I used to be you. Now, it's more likely to be a stained shirt and jeans that I'm busting out of due to the extra Mommy weight I can't get rid of. My hair that desperately needs to be colored will be in a sloppy ponytail and my Coach purse has been replaced by a cheap diaper bag. My kid screams and makes a mess. You silently judge and send disapproving looks my way. I make it a point to follow you down a few aisles so you can get further irritated. Makes the trip to the store just a smidge better. You will be me someday, I promise you that.
And if you aren't me someday, then you'll have missed out on the greatest love of all...the love of a little person who drives you so insane, but then throws her little arms around you and says she loves you, with such exuberance you are almost knocked off your feet, that you forget the day's hassles in a heartbeat.
So, back off before I smack you upside the head!
Then, I had a son. The boy is 7 now, and I must admit, he was a golden child. Not that he didn't have his moments, as all kids do, but he's so good all the time, even to this day, that I often wonder if something was wrong with him! I know, I know, shut up and count your blessings and quit bragging! The worst he had at the grocery store was a few tears when he was told he couldn't have something. He always moved on quickly. He was a prince at dinner, we could even eat out at fine dining places, and he'd be an utter angel. Sitting at the table with hands folded, ordering his own meal from the age of 2, couldn't ask for a better child. And no, I didn't beat it into him, as my father in law was so fond of asking.
Then, child number 2 came along. I can tell you, if she had been born first, she'd have been an only. She is a whole world apart from her brother. I often wonder how two kids who sprung from the same seed could be so different. From birth, she was different than the boy. She cried. A lot. He rarely cried, and if he did, he was hungry or pooped. She cried often. And loudly. For no apparent reason sometimes. Dinners out became a far too infrequent treat. She would screech all through the meal sometimes, even if someone held her. Grocery shopping, fugeddaboutit. She was OK when she was smaller, but once she could walk, watch out world! The cart could not contain her. If you set her free, she grabbed a million things off the shelves and dropped them on the floor. Or insisted on carrying them with her. She can make a mess that would rival a hurricane in 10 seconds flat.
Grocery shopping has become my most dreaded chore. I started to go as infrequently as possible. We'd be out of almost everything before I'd go. I'd stop and grab milk and bread at convenience stores and try to slide through another week without shopping. Mother Hubbard had nothing on me. Hubs was spending a small fortune in take out. But, then I'd go shop and have a cart that rivaled Mt. Everest, and she was even harder to control. So, I am currently trying weekly shopping. Smaller carts, less items needed, less time spent in the store.
So, twenty something woman child walking the aisles in four inch heels and a leather jacket, back off sister! Yes, I used to be you. Now, it's more likely to be a stained shirt and jeans that I'm busting out of due to the extra Mommy weight I can't get rid of. My hair that desperately needs to be colored will be in a sloppy ponytail and my Coach purse has been replaced by a cheap diaper bag. My kid screams and makes a mess. You silently judge and send disapproving looks my way. I make it a point to follow you down a few aisles so you can get further irritated. Makes the trip to the store just a smidge better. You will be me someday, I promise you that.
And if you aren't me someday, then you'll have missed out on the greatest love of all...the love of a little person who drives you so insane, but then throws her little arms around you and says she loves you, with such exuberance you are almost knocked off your feet, that you forget the day's hassles in a heartbeat.
So, back off before I smack you upside the head!
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)