Yesterday was a PD day, and by the time Michael came home from work my shoulders were touching my earlobes, every time someone said “Mom” my left eye twitched, and I was a drained puddle of introvert burnout.
We started potty training Charlie this week, so I didn’t even get alone time when I needed to pee. I literally had six other people in very close proximity to me from 8AM to 5:30PM and I could almost feel my skin blistering from the overstimulation.
This morning Michael suggested I go for the groceries by myself this week. “You’ll get a couple hours alone,” he said, “and yes, the boys and I will do some tidying up while you’re gone.”
Hey, young childless readers! Some day, if you have children, your partner will say “go out alone for a bit and come home to a cleaner house” and this will be the sexiest thing ever. EVER. Who needs cheap e-book erotica when someone is going to clean up the kitchen for you? No one, that’s who.
That’s how I found myself wandering through the grocery store, blissfully alone, able to price compare without trying to do five other things simultaneously. It was nice.
As I was waiting at the checkout and idly people-watching, I saw an elderly lady On A Mission. You know the type. Brow, furrowed. Scarf, jaunty. Wheeled trolley cart, locked and loaded. She swooped down on a young employee setting up a Christmas candy display and promptly lost her ever-loving mind.
“Where are the samples? There are supposed to be Christmas samples! YOU HAVE SIGNS SAYING THERE WILL BE SAMPLES BUT I DON’T SEE ANY SAMPLES.”
The employee explained politely that the samples don’t start up until 11AM. “IT IS ELEVEN RIGHT NOW!” the old lady insisted. I checked my phone; it was actually 10:58.
Another employee – this one the front end manager, a very nice lady who always opens up a new lane for us if she happens by and sees us waiting – came by. There followed a very heated exchange which honestly just reminded me of those Snickers commercials where one guy turns into Joe Pesci because he’s so hungry. This woman was so mad about the perceived dearth of samples that I started to wonder if perhaps she had skipped breakfast just so she could be all ready to stuff her face with Christmas food samples.
Every so often I imagine my post-dayhome life, and I wonder if maybe I’ll just get a job somewhere like my local grocery store, slotting shifts in around the kids’ school schedules because that makes the most sense.
Then I see the world’s angriest apple doll flipping out about a free single bite of cheese and I think NOPE. NOT IN A MILLION YEARS.