I wanted to get the majority of the feast shopping done before Saturday, because the grocery stores become mad houses and the cranberries are all gone otherwise. I thought I would be clever and go after dinner tonight, because who the hell goes to the Walmart at 8 o'clock on a Friday night?
Every Fucking One.
Who knew? Not I. But there I was, wandering around aghast at both the warehouse of schloppy cluttery crap that is Walmart, and the large numbers of toddlers who should be in bed. I don't mean to be a sanctimommy, but as 9:30 approached I just couldn't believe that every aisle had a toddler in it. Why aren't they at home in bed?
For that matter, why the hell aren't all the parents at home in bed? I thought the store would be empty, since by nine o'clock on a typical night I'm either pumping my last pump or feeling guilty that I haven't yet. But then, our house calls it quits very early.
I was picking out apples, and I turned around to see a man with the most unbelievable dreads I have ever seen. They were past his ass, and each one was a lovely inch wide cylinder. There weren't any of those funkity mats you sometimes see, and he had a full head of them. That's three-ish feet of dread. I wanted to go up and pet them. I ran into him several times before I left, and I kept catching myself staring. I wonder if he gets that a lot, and if he's sick of it already. If half of his conversations with strangers are about his startling hair.
He had a toddler with him, clutching his blankey and sucking his thumb.
My little baby was put to bed before I left. My biggest baby went to bed just after I left, and the middle baby started worrying about me when I took too long to come home, then ran out to the car in his bare feet and boxers to help me carry groceries up at 10:00. Being 11, he thought that 30 minutes was plenty of time to complete a shopping trip in. He was quite worried by the time he heard the car.
It is past time for me to call it quits. Going to bask in the joy that only a heated mattress pad can bring,
ephelba
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2 comments:
"warehouse of schloppy cluttery crap that is Walmart"
Oh god you speak great wisdom. Rock and I went to buy sheets for the bed in Smudge's room. He wanted pink. He looked at the Wal-Mart little girl's room sheets for a while, pink indeed, acidic, screeching confrontational pink, and said, "Well, that pink is just kinda..." and we both said together, "Whorish."
And we KEEP shopping there, dammit!!! All of us. You can't fight the Wal-mart.
I knew a guy once who had dreads like you described. They were amazing and took a lifetime to make. Walmart is hell to me, so I give you credit for lasting that long!
Thanks for visiting, I will have to check out the link you gave.
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