Sunday, February 3, 2008

So Hard Sometimes

When I arrived at the grocery store yesterday, I followed in a woman, her tween daughter and her two year old, who was in a stroller. The little kid was anger crying at the top of her lungs.

I'm a slow shopper. I read labels, pick out just the right pieces of produce, talk to many of the store employees. It seemed like every time I turned around, there was the stroller-confined siren. The kid had an unending supply of snot and tears. She screamed commands at her Mom.

"I want a toy!"

"I don't wanna be here!"

The Mom pleaded with her to calm down, asking, "Do you want a cookie? Do you want a donut?"


The monster kept screaming.

I finally got to the checkout line and began putting my groceries on the belt.

Who should push their cart in behind me, but the siren's Mom. It was so hard. I wanted so badly to bend down and say right to that beastly baby's face, "It's a good thing I'm not your Mom, I'd sell you to the goblins."

Deep down, though, I know it's the Mom's fault for letting her kid howl like that. Maybe I should try to sell the Mom to the goblins.

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