6/21/12
When we lived in Richmond, there was a Target store a block and a half away. I used to love going to Target. Seriously. Love it. I used to love it so much sometimes I'd just wander in with no real intent of buying anything. There's something comforting about being surrounded by so much processed pop culture and consumerism. After today's visit with my son Miles, I no longer enjoy this activity.
Miles screamed from the point we entered Target until we came howling back through the doors. People looked at me with pity or disgust, as they could not have known that this was the only opportunity for me to do my generic box store shopping with ONLY one screaming child. I ignored them the best I could, until Miles decided to throw up all over my chest and shoulder. The diaper bag was in the car. Dammit. I cleaned up the best I could in the Target bathroom, then powered through the rest of my shopping, until I was at the register. As the cashier rang up my Cat Litter, 5T purple dress, whole grain wheat bread, 12 pack of sponges, and spatula, I came to the horrifying realization that my wallet was back in the car. I considered against using Miles for collateral, then ran out to the car as the line of people behind me began mumbling epithets at their Iphones (full disclosure: I also mumble epithets at my Iphone in similar situations). When I came back, the cashier had canceled the transaction, and made me wait til the end of the line. Miles was still angry and telling everybody about it.
As soon as this fabulous young son of mine was in the carseat with his stuffed moose, the crying ceased, he fell asleep 12.4 seconds into our ride home.
I hate you Target. Why can't you be more like a moose?
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