When the kids were home from school last summer there was one thing on my mind… how long until the kids go back to school so that I can go to the grocery store by myself.
Taking small children grocery shopping should be a form of torture used to get information out of international spies. One hour in the supermarket with my children, especially if you add sugar, and that spy would be spilling information faster than the workplace gossip.
I couldn’t wait until I could just go to the grocery store by myself. I would have given my pinkie finger to leisurely walk down the isles with list and coffee in hand able to thoughtfully plan meals instead of constantly telling someone “bags of sugar are not footballs” or “no, you can’t put your penis in the lobster tank.”
Once September hit and the kids went back to school, I was giddy about my up coming grocery trips.
I skipped down the isle and finished all my thoughts. I walked down the alcohol isle with out fearing that someone would knock over a shelf and cause massive amounts of wine abuse. I smiled and sent good vibes to the mom’s dealing with the screaming toddlers, so glad it was them and not me.
But recently, there have been events in my shopping trips that have caused me to long for my children to be with me.
Yes, yes I know you think that I have lost my mind but let me explain.
This one time, I reached into the milk case and pulled out a gallon of milk. I turned to set the milk in my cart but got distracted by a woman with pants so far up her ass, I was sure she could taste them that I dropped the gallon of milk on the floor. There I was, standing in a lake of milk and not one child around to blame it on.
“Do you think you’d like this kind? I don’t know. Didn’t we have that last week? Nope, nope… won’t eat that. Come on, it was a hit two weeks ago. No. It is organic and had lots of good stuff in it. Ew Yuck! I bet I can get you to eat it.” With my children around, this conversation looks a lot less like a crazy person off her meds, talking to cereal boxes and more like a mom trying make sure her children eat more than just chocolate chips and marshmallows.
Then there is the ‘receipt marker at Costco’. I don’t really understand his job. He stands there at the exit, looks at the receipt, then at the cart and then makes a highlighted line down the receipt.
Is he trying to make sure that everything I purchased in is in my cart? If so, how is this possible when my Costco chart has been packet by some man who really like to play Tetras. My stuff is wedged in there so tightly, I almost need lube to get it out. There is no way that with one glance he can tell that every thing in my cart is supposed to be there. Besides, the only think between the cashier and the door to try and steal would be tires.
Trust me, I am not going to to steal tires but if I did, it’d be pretty damn obvious since tires don’t exactly fit in my purse.
When my children are with me at this checkout point, they distract receipt checker man. They beg for smiley faces and ask him a thousand questions. He gives me a look of understanding as to why my cart is about half full of wine. But when my children are not with me, he looks down at me over his glasses and peers into my cart with judgement. He just doesn’t see why I would need 12 bottles of wine, batteries, and cake carrot with cream cheese frosting.
So even though I would rather run naked across a beauty pageant stage than take my children grocery shopping, it is probably for the best that I do the grocery shopping with them.
Either that or get a tattoo on my forehead that says, “Back off, I have children!”