As I am trying to find the toothbrush for which I have a coupon while trying to think over the, Mama, Mama, I want the Dora toothpaste! Mama, I want this one. Oooo, watermelon, I don't have watermelon toothpaste. Mama, I need this... what is it?, an old lady approaches me. I think she's going to comment on how cute my kids are or congratulate me on my ability to grab falling tubes while simultaneously remove brightly colored, cartooned products from my children's itchy fingers. Instead she asks me if I know where to find the baby wipes. I tell her the next aisle over. She then proceeds to tell me why she is looking for baby wipes. No, not grandbabies coming to visit. No, not a baby shower. She likes to use them herself, she has Irritable Bowel Syndrome, you know.
Thanks for sharing.
A few aisles on, I run into an acquaintance, an older man I knew from my former job. We say hello and howdy-do and he asks me what I'm doing. I point to my cart crammed with two impatient children and far too much food and reply, Doing the mom thing.
He smiles indulgently and says, I meant, what are you doing with your time?
Oh, yea, nothing, nothing at all. Now, where are those bon-bons?
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1 comment:
I was in a public bathroom on Saturday with a lady who apparently had the same condition. It was so lovely to hear her loudly tell her husband all about the disaster and how there was no possible way she could leave the stall until he came with a change of clothes. I feel for ya lady, but I REALLY do not need to hear about this and about how the rich soup you ate at Cheesecake Factory was most likely the culprit.
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