Padded conversation

Oh Lordy, y’all.  The fun continues in the world of being me…

I was strolling around the children’s section of Barnes & Noble tonight with the kids.  I probably should have gotten them home earlier to get ready for bed, but they were completely content and reading to themselves.  I have to admit, I got a little smug standing there in a store full of kids who were screaming about the toy mom and dad wouldn’t buy them.

I’m truly not judging, but when did it become so taboo to say “no” to our precious little cherubs?  We are days away from Christmas – all my children hear at this point is no (with the added “maybe Santa will bring it”, but that is no guarantee).  The relentless commercials for toys and games are working their magic and making them want the latest and greatest do-dad and wally-bob.  I get the whines and pleading, just like any other parent, but no.  And they know at this point that any type of fit turns that no to a never.

But I digress.

So I’m loving my little angels and feeling a proud parent moment when I get a text.  My hands are full so I shift and reshift to get to my phone.  It’s in the Mary Poppins bag I call a purse, so I have to bend my arm in a completely unnatural way to feel around the bottom.  I’m struggling with everything in my arms, but do I put it all down like a reasonable person?  Nope.  Do I ask one of the children for help?  Of course not.  Do I appreciate that I can actually wait to read the text?  That’s crazy talk.

So I slush through the bag with my arm bent in too many awkward angles until I strike gold and find the phone.  I was so grateful to find it that I pulled my hand out a little too quickly, knocking a few things out of my purse which forced me to put everything in my arms down on the table like I should have done in the first place.

Here’s the part that makes it fun… and my payback for being smug…

Earlier today I purchased some pads to donate to the health room of the kid’s school.  I don’t know if it’s the hormones in the milk or the estrogen in the air, but girls are joining the glorious ranks of womanhood earlier and earlier these days.  The school system is fairly particular about what they distribute, and unfortunately they have chosen the California king of sanitary napkins to give to these poor girls.  Nevertheless, it’s better than nothing and the school was running low so I purchased the closest match I could find at Target.

And that pack of scented mini mattresses is what flew out of my purse, rolled about 6 feet away and landed by the shoe of a very attractive, very embarrassed, man who was buying his nephew a book for Christmas.  He picked up the pack with a forced smile and, bless him, he tried to be casual, but both of our faces were too red to pull casual off.

I said thank you when he handed it to me, but I hadn’t quite gotten a hold of it (and he wanted not to hold it) so it fell to the floor once again.  “I’ll just let you get it this time.” was all he said as he left the section with no book for nephew.

I’m willing to bet the crazy pad lady is a story told over several beers for several weeks.  What a claim to fame.







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