The Day I Almost Got Into A Fight At The Grocery Store

No original content tonight. It’s late and I don’t feel like thinking. Reaching back to the non-published archives. October 28, 2007. Just for reference, David was 7, Cameron 5, Justin 2, and Alex a baby. My patience was usually worn pretty thin.

Two words for the woman, who this morning in the Cub Foods parking lot had the audacity to hold up her hands and say, “Move!” to me as she was about to pull into a parking space next to my van while David and Cameron were messing about, taking a few extra seconds to open the door, and I was crossing over to the other side with Justin to return the cart to the corral: TREAD. LIGHTLY.

MOVE? Excuse me? Do you want to go? Because I’ll go. And I don’t need much of a reason these days.

Maybe before your middle-aged bitchy ass throws up your hands in exasperation at ME, you should consider how I just spent MY last half hour. After church, which was relatively peaceful, even with Justin and David with me, I picked up Cameron from Sunday School. And it was on. They immediately began to fight. They ran out of chocolate donuts at church so after successfully sidestepping a meltdown because of that, someone let the door slam on Justin’s hand as we were leaving. Then after hearing David complain that “Daddy goes to Byerly’s, not Cub,” and listening to Justin fuss because he wanted his donut NOW, and pulling Cameron out of the inside of the bakery case, and having everyone change their mind about which donuts they wanted, so now I have almost a dozen donuts instead of four, and watching David and Cameron alternatively dance with each other and then fight with each other while I was at the check-out, and then trying to herd them in the general direction of where we were parked while coming out of the store, that’s when you chose to get all impatient on a Sunday morning and get pissy with me. You actually think I’m wasting two seconds of your precious time on PURPOSE? Lady, if I could get out of here any quicker, believe me, I would. Stupid bitch.

(This was what was going through my head as she pulled into her parking space. That would be right after she threw her hands in the air and said, “MOVE!” and I looked at her and STUCK MY TONGUE out at her and made a face as I walked toward the van to put Justin in right next to her. I wanted to turn around and glare at her again, but knew that I’d end up saying a lot of what I was thinking, and that wouldn’t have helped anyone. She had the good sense to just move on.)

© Jennifer Alys Windholz, 2011


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