I didn't go to the grocery store over the weekend, and since we were down to a gourmet selection of pickles and ketchup, I loaded up the kids and went to Publix.
All parents know that when you take your kids to the grocery store, some trips are better than others. This time they taste-tested half of our food, the other half was nothing but sugar and artificial coloring, and then they used the aisles for their personal 5K race. But the good news is that Bailey increased her fastest time by 2.7 seconds.
Oh, and Drew had to poop while we were there. So to everyone who laughed at me for leaving a cart-full of groceries and running with Drew to the bathroom faster than Usain Bolt while coaching him to "Hold it! Hold it!" the entire way, you're welcome.
After poopapalooza, Drew spilled a carton of strawberries onto the floor. Figures. It was the only healthy thing in the entire cart. The gluten gods are so unkind.
So maybe I wasn't in the best mood while standing in the checkout line.
There were two bag boys there. Are they even called "bag boys" anymore? If not and that makes me sound 87 years old, all the better. You'll see in a minute.
Those boys were just that - boys. I'm sure that they were probably 16 or 18 years old - but to me - they looked like they had just given up their wubbie and quit sucking their thumb, like, yesterday. DANG. Being 87 sucks.
Then one of the "grocery placement specialists" (See. Even old ladies can pretend to sound current) said to the other one, "My girlfriend and I are going to get engaged and then she wants to start a family. She wants to have five kids."
Good Lord, Jevohah! You should at least wait until you're old enough to shave before you start thinking about a family. Good thing your buddy is about to set you straight.
But he didn't. Instead, the other bag boy just smiled and said, "Yeah. My girlfriend wants five kids, too."
Good freaking grief. Looks like I'm going to have to take the wheel here.
"You know - everybody wants five kids until they have one. It sounds fun and looks easy from a distance. But when you're older, and you have your first child, I bet you'll change your mind and think that two kids sounds better than five."
The man in line behind me smiled in agreement. Then we high-fived each other with our minds and shouted BOOYAH without saying a word. It was a moment.
Three points for old people! Whoosh. Nothin' but net!
But the old people weren't the only ones having a moment. Those whatever-you-call-bag-boys-now had a moment of their own.
They looked at each other with an expression that silently said,
Listen, old hag. I'll have my five kids JUST YOU WAIT AND SEE. And they'll be beautiful, smart, well-behaved, Christian kids who will be the pillar of perfection. And we'll be happy. And we'll never tell bag boys how to live their lives. Just because you can't handle parenthood, doesn't mean that I won't be able to.
Then I looked back at him all like,
Alright. I know what you're thinking because I thought the same thing when I was your age. But remember this moment, kid. Because one night about 3 a.m. - when your wife is feeding your baby and you're changing crib sheets because an infant somehow managed to puke, pee and poop everywhere simultaneously - you'll think of me. You'll see my haggered, judgmental, stressed, 'can't handle parenthood' face, and you'll say, "DAMN. THAT OLD LADY WAS RIGHT AFTER ALL".
Seriously. We had a silent conversation longer than War and Peace.
Back at home, I was telling Brian about how I schooled those bag boys. "As I was preaching to them, Bailey kept interrupting me to ask questions, Drew was spilling strawberries all over the floor, and then I..."
Bailey interrupted, "WHAT? WHAT DO YOU MEAN ASKING QUESTIONS? WHAT QUESTIONS? WHEN DID I ASK YOU A QUESTION?" And then I looked into the kitchen and saw Drew quietly spilling strawberries all over the hardwood floor.
Yep. Good luck with those five kids, guys.
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