Saturday, November 7, 2009


Took a quick trip to Michael's today to get some Christmas scrapbook supplies. As if I don't have enough scrapbook supplies.


The plan was for me to do Michael's with Toast, and for Hubby to go to Home Depot (known as "Home Despot" in our house)...Hubby actually needed to do some investigating and asking for help at the Despot, which is better accomplished without a Toast in tow.

So there I am, in Michael's...Toast has started a constant whine which is neverending, unceasing, and interspersed with some verbiage that I'm still not clear about, meaning wise. It goes something like this.

eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeehhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh mamamamamamamama pODGHKCgpoingdkagnoeb;achklsek eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeehhhhhhhhhhhhhhh

That one last nerve that gets me to Saturday? Yeah, it's slowly PING-ing away, like a rope breaking all it's fibers in a Bugs Bunny cartoon.

We checkout, and since most stores think that you need ten receipts (one receipt that is approximately 10 meters long, accompanied by three coupons, two advertisements, four circulars, and assorted partridges in pear trees), I'm attempting to stuff all that paper in my wallet. There is, of course, a line. And out of one ear all I can hear is this:

eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeehhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh mamamamamamamama pODGHKCgpoingdkagnoeb;achklsek eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeehhhhhhhhhhhhhhh

....droning on at the approximate volume and key of a lawn mower heard from three streets away at seven in the morning on a sunday after a long night.

Not that I know what that sounds like.

So my bag is sitting on the counter, waiting for me to grab it. And I haven't gone anywhere (because I'm still stuffing). The gentleman behind me picks up my bag, nudges my elbow, and stands there with it in his hand.

The bag is now at the same level and station it was before, only having been moved about one food to the left and held by an actual human hand. The human hand sends a message: PICK UP YOUR BAG, LADY, AND GET OUT OF THE WAY SO MY WIFE CAN CHECK OUT.

I look at the man, and trying to be nice (didn't he notice the flames shooting out of my ears?), I say to him "thank you, I'll get that in a moment"

"I'm just trying to be helpful!" he says.

I take a deep breath, and all I say is thank you. Sometimes I don't have enough patience for my son and the rest of the world. This is one of those times. I've found it's better, in situations like this, just to say thank you and not read any further into the situation.

But really, if this ever happens to you...if you are that man? PICKING UP THE BAG DOES NOT HELP!!!!!!!!!!!!!

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