I always go to the grocery with the same hope that the universe will shift on it's axis and that it will be a successful and easy trip.I have yet to experience anything easy at the grocery store. This week's trip was no different.
Usually the hubs and I have a system of sending one of us late at night (usually him, the freaks come out at night, and I prefer holding down the fort in case of Zombie apocalypse) while the other stays with the sleeping kids and catches up on every real housewife episode possible. It's a pretty foolproof system...that is until we run out of something major, like bananas, and we just cannot survive without them.
Oh and if there's a special event at the grocery, then all plans go out the window and we're there faster than you can spell grocery. I swear, we are such townies.
Like this week, for instance. Since the beginning of time our local grocery chain has had the same 100 year old man and his pony come to the store for pictures. Seriously, we have generations of these "cowboy photos"with the same tie around chaps, vest and red hat. It's like the sisterhood of the traveling pants; scared toddler edition. Basically, I needed that photograph reminder that old people and horses terrifies toddlers. I mean, come on kids, it's not the great depression...the horse is set up next to a Red Box for freaks sake. Fix your face and smile... am I right?
So since the "photo" booth was set up in front of the store, I felt obligated to do our necessary shopping, so the hubs wouldn't have to make another 2 minute trip back to the grocery later that evening. Wife of the year right award, right?
I went into the store armed with my list and courage, and cha-chinged at the sight of one of those shopping cart cars right away. Usually they are pretty hard to come by around these parts, and are taken by parents of one kid who is usually 6 months or younger and totally not getting anything out of the experience. I'm usually on the no judgement for other mommies train, but when you have hogged the only thing that get's my two crazy kids through the store, with your kid that can barely hold it's head upright, please note my evil eye and "oh please" face as I am running through the aisles like supermarket sweep trying not to run over my own flesh and blood.
Pumped for the luck of getting a coveted cart,we entered the store with a wide right turn (those things are impossible to steer) and I was riding proud with my two perfectly behaved children, faux driving the entire way. This actually lasted until we made it about halfway when Elliot decided to be like Evil Knievel and drag his fingertips on the ground, while hanging out of the window like a Duke brother trying to snatch some moonshine while moving. Seeing the "coolness" of this Theo began to hang-drag too (shouldn't it be the older one teaching the younger one bad habits), of course I was buried into my shopping list at this point, so I initially didn't notice the extra foot on each side that I now had to allow to keep from knocking a noggin on something.
Luckily, a kind older man on a Rascal scooter that was facing us, yelled at me to stop, freaking me out and causing me to slip and fall under the cart handle. As I picked myself, up I made eye contact with the man, who kindly told me that the boys were hanging out of the "car" and sure enough as I peered around, I saw too little crazies peering at me from a 90 degree angle. Now Theo is 3, so he's at the age where if I tell him something, he usually listens, but Elliot, OH THAT ELLIOT, is so defiant and head strong at just one and a half years old. To get my point across, I had to keep bending over and physically placing him in the cart, while saying "no no " Elly about 50 times.
But around the second time of bending over and lifting him back upright, I realized that I was wearing my brand new bra. You know, the one that I was too lazy to adjust the straps to fit me tight, and the moment I came up I realized that it felt a little airy in the V of my V-neck.
My boob had popped out at the Grocery.
And Mr. Rascal (who was right at boob height) got a front row seat to the whole show. As I stuffed myself back in, I took a wide left, knocking down an entire stand of bacon bits, apologizing under my breath and rushing to the checkout.
Just another day at the Grocery.
Note: I'm pretty sure that I'll soon be referred to as the Cinci Flasher. We've got the Splash Park and now the Grocery...I promise that I'm not some creepy exhibitionist, I've just been a victim to way too many wardrobe malfunctions. I think it's time for some, alterations ya know? I'll be taking seamstress applications.