Chloe and I played outside all morning. We dragged a few jugs of water to the apple tree, spilling most of it on the way but that was okay because, “the grass is thirsty too Mommy.”
I hate dragging Chloe out to run errands but if I wait until she goes to bed, I’ll have no time for my scotch and cigar so it must happen during daylight hours.
We headed over to pick up a blind at a store about twenty minutes away. This means packing; diapers, wipes, plastic bags in case there is some sort of explosion and I can’t find a garbage within catapulting distance, a tea for me, snacks and a drink for Chloe, paint by numbers, three knitting needles etc. etc.
All this for a blind.
When we arrived at the store the girl behind the counter looked at me and before asking, “How may I help you?” she said, “I just have to cut these two blinds and I’ll be right with you.”
Cut two sets of blinds and THEN she’ll ask how she can help me? What if I came in to tell her I just saw a bat fly into the store or their huge balloon display was being pecked at by rabid pigeons or that I witnessed a lollipop being stolen from a child in the parking lot. Wouldn’t it make more sense to ask what I was doing in her store and then tell me she would help me after she cut two sets of blinds or better still, multi-task—cut and talk, cut and talk.
When I told her I was picking up a blind, just one blind, singular, one paid for blind, wrapped with my name on it. I got the call and I came right over after packing two days worth of stuff in the emergency kit, one blind.
Chloe was getting antsy. She didn’t like the way the saw sounded cutting the blind right there at the check-out. She didn’t like the hip I was balancing her on. She didn’t like that I told her to stop throwing the fuzzy, pink pillow on the display bed like it was a ball that she owned. She didn’t like being taken away from hopping in a puddle, feeding the grass/apple tree, drawing chalk outlines on the driveway, riding her trike to pick up a stupid blind. And quite frankly, neither did I.
By the time the cutting was over, pink, fuzzy pillow on the counter waiting to be paid for as it was covered with sawdust, dust bunnies and probably bat guano, Chloe was done.
Just before I could respond to, “How may I help you?” I heard a royal trumpeting coming from the baby and a giggle for all the blind shoppers the world over, “Mommy, I farted in your purse!”
You sure did Chloe.
You sure did.
