Today, I was totally the white trash person of Walmart. Wiener had a conference call, so I had to get the screaming demons out of the house for a bit and decided a quick trip to the store for milk and eggs was in order. They do not sell vodka at our Walmart. Bastards. My outfit was perfection. No shower, dirty yoga pants, a neon orange Corona t-shirt, hat, no make-up. Devil Baby had un-brushed hair and was wearing a sparkly skin tight stripper dress. Fifi looked cute, except for the stringy beach hair.
We looked only one step up from the fluffy, frazzled mom of five we saw yesterday back to school shoe shopping with her brood who was walking through a strip mall pushing a newborn baby in a car seat plopped in a Target shopping cart smoking a cigarette. We weren't at Target. Classy.
We made our rounds through the store uneventfully. Which is a pretty big feat considering Devil Baby usually asks for things the whole time and she and her sister fight and hit each other. Thank Baby Jesus in a tux for small mercies none of this happened during today's trip. As we were checking out, however, the natives began to get restless asking for candy and pinatas. No clue where pinata came from. Then they were messing with the child seat in the front of the cart, and also hitting each other, and I knew a finger pinch was in the foreseeable future.
By the time we got to the car and Fifi sighed heavily when I asked her to put the cart away for me, I had reached my limit. So, when I asked her to put up the middle seat on her side and sit there instead of the far back where I had to put the groceries, and she began arguing- I lost my shit. The clincher was when I responded to her protest with a loud "everything is not a motherfucking debate" just as I see the old man entering the car next to us. Oops.
I was given dirty looks, but he knew what was good for him and kept his trap shut. Otherwise, I may have unleashed the hounds of PMS on him. Or not. I feel bad if I offended his delicate sensibilities, but I'm sure he has not known the insanity that is motherhood and the witching hour in the days before school starts. Kids become howler monkeys with ADD on meth. And if he is familiar with this, I'm sure he has either forgotten or has lost his cool at one time or another. So don't judge me, crotchety old man wearing a bucket hat. You need to get off my lawn.
And don't judge me, dear reader, for