Squished Toes
Jul. 31st, 2009 06:57 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
tinhuvielBefore we got to come home, Aunt Tudi wanted to go by Wal-Mart and pick up some milk and drinks. Wal-Mart on a Friday is the next closest thing to Hell I can imagine, the first being stuck in a room with no Internet and a constant pipeline of Country music. Now Aunt Tudi has this habit of telling me that we're ready to leave Wally World and, as I'm cutting flips to the front of the store, she suddenly puts the brakes on my glee by saying "Oh my! Not yet! I forgot to get [insert inane consumer item here]." This item is invariably at the back of the store. Why I always fall for her saying it's time to leave is beyond me. Maybe the need I feel in the very marrow of my bones to get out with of Wal-Mart the minute I set foot in the place is the reason for my clouded judgment.
Today, it was pickle relish. She forgot the pickle relish for tuna salad. My version of tuna salad is a blob of mayonnaise in the middle of a blob of tuna, mix vigourously, plop on bread, and nosh. But Aunt Tudi is a tuna salad connoisseur, so pickle relish must be had. She'd also mentioned a loaf of bread, so I suggested I'd go get the bread while she backtracked to get the pickles. I took the cart because I was heading in the right direction and could hold our inane consumer items hostage, if need be, until Aunt Tudi gave in and agreed to leave with me.
On my way to the bread, I ran into a snag, in the form of....children. They were in my way. They were between me and the bread I needed. There were four of the little things, two of which were obviously "BFFs" because they were about 7 and holding hands...awwwww, isn't that cute? ::balls fists and places them together, squinching up my face in pure childhood squee'ness:: Every time I tried to get around them and their typically oblivious mother, the BFFs would barr my way. After the third time of this insanity, I chuffed loudly. The woman looked up and gave me this "oh ya know kidz rite?" look, which I did not return, because I don't want to know her kids nor anybody else's. A little confused that she wasn't getting the motherly code signs in return, she said to the BFFs, "Girls, I hope you get run over! I swear, you've been nothing but trouble in here and, if you keep this up, you're gonna get your toes squished! Now move over here and let this lady pass."
As I began to walk by them, the woman continued her sweet-talking diatribe. "Now, please try to stay out of the way. You are really going to get your toes squished and then someone is gonna feel bad." She then flashed me a "ya know kidz rite?" grin, I guess in the hope that I would clue in to the whole code sign thing and we could do the Breeders Bond. I flashed her something back. I flashed her my smirk with just a slight tightness of the eyes. Just like Jeff Goldblum getting his arse chased by a T-Rex (not the band, although that's scary too), the woman was "fairly alarmed" because, when I flash this particular expression to parents, it squeegees away any hope they may have had that I would understand their brats' poor behaviour or their own obvious lack of parenting skills. And this person, with her brood and their attached BFF, caught me on a particularly rancid day. Actually, I've had a series of them, but each consecutive day simply tells me that I need to avoid the Great Unwashed Masses until I'm feeling a tad more charitable. She may think I don't understand Breeder (which I do, I just choose not to acknowledge it as a language), but I got no doubt whatsoever that she understands...well, whatever it is I am. She gathered her kids around her very quickly and removed herself and them from the bread to which I needed access so I could get out of Wal-Mart.
Now, what could she have possibly seen in my tiny little grin? Well, I know what was going through my head when she said "You are really going to get your toes squished and then someone is gonna gonna feel bad." I remember it like it was just four hours ago! If my glance in her direction allowed this woman to read my mind, this is what she heard: Oh, you've got the wrong chica here, you barely-sentient brood sow. Nothing would please me more than to squish your dirty little brats' toes with my cart's wheels. In fact, if I had the chance, I'd affix their heads to the floor with some Krazy Glue, which can be found on aisle three in hardware, and slowly squish them instead with my Monster Truck Birkenstocks. No no, lady. I don't play the "ya know kidz rite?" game. Take your walking petri dishes and your limited brain capacity to the next aisle so I can get my bread and get out of here before I come hunting you down with a stolen tube of Krazy Glue.
I got my bread. About that time Aunt Tudi came up with the pickle relish. Holding my breath until we actually got to check-out, I was then confident in the fact that we'd be leaving Wal-Mart and I wouldn't have to make quick detour to hardware, aisle three, to pick up a little needed tool of the trade...
Today, it was pickle relish. She forgot the pickle relish for tuna salad. My version of tuna salad is a blob of mayonnaise in the middle of a blob of tuna, mix vigourously, plop on bread, and nosh. But Aunt Tudi is a tuna salad connoisseur, so pickle relish must be had. She'd also mentioned a loaf of bread, so I suggested I'd go get the bread while she backtracked to get the pickles. I took the cart because I was heading in the right direction and could hold our inane consumer items hostage, if need be, until Aunt Tudi gave in and agreed to leave with me.
On my way to the bread, I ran into a snag, in the form of....children. They were in my way. They were between me and the bread I needed. There were four of the little things, two of which were obviously "BFFs" because they were about 7 and holding hands...awwwww, isn't that cute? ::balls fists and places them together, squinching up my face in pure childhood squee'ness:: Every time I tried to get around them and their typically oblivious mother, the BFFs would barr my way. After the third time of this insanity, I chuffed loudly. The woman looked up and gave me this "oh ya know kidz rite?" look, which I did not return, because I don't want to know her kids nor anybody else's. A little confused that she wasn't getting the motherly code signs in return, she said to the BFFs, "Girls, I hope you get run over! I swear, you've been nothing but trouble in here and, if you keep this up, you're gonna get your toes squished! Now move over here and let this lady pass."
As I began to walk by them, the woman continued her sweet-talking diatribe. "Now, please try to stay out of the way. You are really going to get your toes squished and then someone is gonna feel bad." She then flashed me a "ya know kidz rite?" grin, I guess in the hope that I would clue in to the whole code sign thing and we could do the Breeders Bond. I flashed her something back. I flashed her my smirk with just a slight tightness of the eyes. Just like Jeff Goldblum getting his arse chased by a T-Rex (not the band, although that's scary too), the woman was "fairly alarmed" because, when I flash this particular expression to parents, it squeegees away any hope they may have had that I would understand their brats' poor behaviour or their own obvious lack of parenting skills. And this person, with her brood and their attached BFF, caught me on a particularly rancid day. Actually, I've had a series of them, but each consecutive day simply tells me that I need to avoid the Great Unwashed Masses until I'm feeling a tad more charitable. She may think I don't understand Breeder (which I do, I just choose not to acknowledge it as a language), but I got no doubt whatsoever that she understands...well, whatever it is I am. She gathered her kids around her very quickly and removed herself and them from the bread to which I needed access so I could get out of Wal-Mart.
Now, what could she have possibly seen in my tiny little grin? Well, I know what was going through my head when she said "You are really going to get your toes squished and then someone is gonna gonna feel bad." I remember it like it was just four hours ago! If my glance in her direction allowed this woman to read my mind, this is what she heard: Oh, you've got the wrong chica here, you barely-sentient brood sow. Nothing would please me more than to squish your dirty little brats' toes with my cart's wheels. In fact, if I had the chance, I'd affix their heads to the floor with some Krazy Glue, which can be found on aisle three in hardware, and slowly squish them instead with my Monster Truck Birkenstocks. No no, lady. I don't play the "ya know kidz rite?" game. Take your walking petri dishes and your limited brain capacity to the next aisle so I can get my bread and get out of here before I come hunting you down with a stolen tube of Krazy Glue.
I got my bread. About that time Aunt Tudi came up with the pickle relish. Holding my breath until we actually got to check-out, I was then confident in the fact that we'd be leaving Wal-Mart and I wouldn't have to make quick detour to hardware, aisle three, to pick up a little needed tool of the trade...
