August 4, 2009
Yesterday afternoon I had a long day at work. Usually I'm off the clock by noon, but yesterday I decided to sit at my desk and grind away until 4:30.
I know, you are simply bowled over by the intensity of my work ethic.
Around 1pm, when I started feeling hungry, I decided to take a break and head over to our brand spankin' new grocery store to pick up a couple of things: milk, bread, eggs, Twizzlers, powdered sugar, rainbow-colored sprinkles--you know, only the basics.
When I arrived at the store, kid-free mind you, I instinctively grabbed a cart and hurried up and down the aisles (wanted to get back to work and tie up my loose ends before the Tyra show came on--she's got a bangin' body ya know).
Now I'm not sure if I've ever mentioned this, but the population of our town tops out around 6,000. So basically, anytime you set foot outside of your living room, you're bound to run into someone you know.
And sure enough I did. I ran into our neighbor from two houses down (hi, hello, whatever), another parent from James's daycare (damn I hope my hair looks okay), my husband's PR guy (don't let him see my coupons--must act rich), and the president of a local savings bank--who it just so happens I've been trying to finagle $5,000 out of at work (must. act. like a frickin. rock star.).
I didn't want to bother the guy, but truth be told, he said hi to me first. We talked about the Red Sox, we shot the shiz about the weather, and for one-and-a-half seconds we talked about the five grand donation.
I wrapped it up, verbally acknowledging what a wonderfully busy man his is, and strutted away trying, trying, TRYING to make my ass look professional yet fabulous. I don't know, I'm still hashing out this whole working world thing--but I'm sure it couldn't hurt, right?
As I rounded the corner to the checkout, we came face to face again--so I smiled, cocked my head, and let out a delightful yet confident giggle. You know, just to say, "Hello! I'm still here! I'm still charming! I still want $5,000 of your hard earned money!"
As I pulled into the checkout lane I thought to myself, "These damn rocketship carts are so hard to move. Stupid, useless, no good piece of sh*t." I leaned into my turn, and with the rear wheels dragging sideways across the floor, finally got that oversized hunk of crap just where I needed it.
And that's when it dawned on me.
I was pushing a rocketship cart. Without my child present. For five or six lightweight items.
Now seriously Mr. Banker--let me tell you who you can to make that check out to.