Features
An embarrassing day at the store
GLASGOW — I don’t take Abby along to Walmart very often because neither of us has the patience required for Abby to spend much time there. But on this particular day I needed to pick up just a few items, so I decided we were up to the task.
“Can I walk?” she asked as we approached the store.
“Sure! And when you get tired, Mommy will let you ride in the cart,” I said in my most patient Mommy voice. As usual, she walked only a short distance before deciding she was ready to ride.
I didn’t have a list and she was being very cooperative, so I found myself wandering around the store looking at everything in sight. We ran into a few friends and chatted and before I knew it we’d been there an hour and Abby was pretty well surrounded by merchandise I’d decided we needed to purchase.
By the time we made our way around the store and to the produce aisle, she was starting to get cranky, complaining about various items in the cart “bothering” her, and just being an all-around whiner. I tried to patiently ignore her whining and scurry around and finish my shopping, but my patience was wearing thin.
I stopped the cart, took a deep breath, repositioned the items so she’d have more room, gently apologized to Abby for taking so long and promised her we’d be ready to leave in just a few minutes.
Feeling like Mom of the Year for not losing my temper despite Abby’s near meltdown, I grabbed a bag of baby carrots, which I’d decided would be my last item, and tossed them into the cart.
“That’s on my leg,” Abby wailed, much, much more loudly than before, and then repetitively.
Suddenly I felt myself transform from Mom of the Year into Mommie Dearest. Before I knew what was happening, I heard myself snap, “Then MOVE it.”
Taking a quick look to make sure I wasn’t about to run over someone, I spotted a young girl, probably about 13, standing directly in front of my cart and sporting a look of near panic. That sweet, innocent girl, having just heard me bark, “Move it,” was scrambling around trying to figure out how to get out of my way before I plowed her down.
“Oh I’m so sorry!” I blubbered. “I wasn’t talking to you. I, I was, uh, talking to, uh…. Oh my goodness. I’m sorry.”
The mother, standing right beside her daughter and having seen the whole thing, told me not to worry about it as she enjoyed a good chuckle.
I giggled a little as well, mostly to cover up my own embarrassment, and then dashed on to the checkout line.
While it’s true that Abby could just as easily have moved those carrots off her leg as to have had a fit that they were touching her, it’s also true that I had no business yelling back at my 8-year-old daughter in the middle of Walmart, or anywhere, for that matter.
Contact Alisa Maysey at alisamaysey(at)yahoo.com
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