So, the girls and I are in a checkout line at the dinky little store on b@se. I’m already on edge because…
- just going near this place gets me that way
- the parking lot is so full people are drive-stalking shoppers as they exit heading towards their cars
- we got 2 feet of snow dumped on us last week and it hasn’t been cleared. In fact, piles of it reside in every other parking space of this lot
- I have two girls with me who are going to want to eat the greasy cardboard labeled “pizza” in the food court and who will want to look at every single toy on the toy aisle, even though in just two days it would be Christmas. Thankfully the toy aisle is only half an aisle in this store. So I’m going to have to be the Mean Mommy who simply parrots the word, “no” every twenty seconds. No. No. No. No. Come back here. No. No. No. Stop asking questions. No. No. No!
As we’re waiting in line…oh, wait…I picked this line because I thought it would be the fastest. I had three choices. Lane 1 was already backed up. Lane 2 looked promising with a lone guy and his pack of shirts or something, so I glanced at Lane 3–an elderly lady with a cane and a complicated order. Lane 2 it was. So as we’re waiting there I’m already mortified because the latest issue of Cosmo is promising something like “the hottest, craziest $ex you’ve ever had”, or “72 $EX positions you’ve never thought of”, or something completely inappropriate for my seven-year old daughter to read. And guess which article I think I see her eyes studying. I would like to blow up Cosmo right now, but it’s the Christmas season and that wouldn’t look that Christian.
As I’m on edge and being completely mortified I’m also trying to wrangle Ashlyn from dumping out the magazines on the bottom rack and then rearranging all of the candy. It never really ends for me. As I’m dealing I sense an elderly man file in line behind us. A nice sideways glance and half smile from me to let him know I acknowledge his presence, but am kind of mortified and busy at the moment. I then hear the following, aimed at my two young, uninitiated girls, come from his mouth (said in a slow, whispery voice):
Guess what was in my room last night? As I was going to sleep I thought I heard something come into my room. I felt something jump up on the bed. I felt it as it crawled up closer to my face. THEN! I could see two green eyes. I could feel it’s breath on my face. I was about to scream when it let out a loud…MEOW!
Guess what Grandpa? You don’t tell kids scary stories about even the most precious little things like kitty cats, even if the story ends with a funny little punch line. You wanna know why you don’t tell them scary monster stories? Because they won’t remember the cute little punch line when they’re lying in bed at night and it’s dark and all they have are their IMAGINATIONS! I could just see the endless conversations we’d have about this. Or worse, I could just see Reagan lying in bed afraid to say anything and being haunted by this for twelve years.
BUT THAT’S NOT ALL. Scary Grandpa has a drop of snot hanging from the tip of his nose the whole time he’s telling the story. I’m not even kidding you. In fact, my throat is tightening up and my stomach is beginning the retching process as I’m writing this. I couldn’t even look at him while he was telling the story because I would have gagged in his face. And his face was too close to mine for comfort. So, after the idiotic story he proceeds to take his finger, wipe the snot drop from his nose,and then lick his finger. I only wish I were lying. My stomach is upset now.
All he could do was laugh at himself for telling that story. All I could do was gag the throw up back down and wish we were back at the toy aisle. What was taking so long with the guy in front of me anyway? I practically threw my purchase and credit card at the cashier and got out of there. Blech.