Titty Show at the Grocery Store (a memoir)

After dropping off my older boys at school, my two year-old and I set out on a milk mission. Sounds easy enough, right? My little lovey likes to ride in those shopping carts that have the firetrucks in the front so he can pretend to steer. Bad news is, they are low to the ground so they can get in and out by themselves, but the good news is, they usually enjoy riding in them. Even though we just needed milk, I found some great deals on produce. Yippee fucking skippee! I discovered the bee’s knees of bargain berries! I loaded my cart with various fruits including apples and a few melons. As we were leaving, my little lovey spotted the miniature pumpkins on display.

“Baby punkin!” he yelled. “Mama, that’s so cute.”

No, I thought to myself, you are so cute and I will get you that pumpkin to put in your room to decorate for Halloween. I let him hold on to it to keep him happy and all seemed well in grocery land. Just a mother and her little pumpkin (with his little pumpkin), on their way to grab some milk. Lo and behold, I spotted bread and coincidentally about fifteen other things we needed along the way. Finally, I got the milk that we came for. We headed up front and successfully made it to the check out line. I began setting my items on the belt. This is when my toddler decided that he was done sitting.

“Stay in the cart, we are not finished,” I said.

“No mama, I get out!” he yelled (which in toddler translates to: Screw you bitch, I’m outta here).

The firetruck cart was so big that I couldn’t reach to grab him. Before I knew it, he was scat-assing out of the line at what seemed like 50 miles per hour and was heading for the automatic exit door. I shoved the cart to the side and leaped after him like a cheetah chasing her prey. Hallelujah! I caught him before he made it outside. Carrying him under one arm, I made my way back to the check out and finished placing my items on the belt. Much to my dismay, my lovey started yelling, “HELP ME! HELP ME!” Okay now everyone was looking. They were most likely assuming that there was a child abduction taking place. He kicked and twisted. He was literally upside down. The sweet little gray-haired checker looked sympathetically at me over her glasses as she bagged up our little pumpkin.

“Ooh is this a pumpkin to make pies with?”

In my head I thought: Well, actually ma’am do you see what the fuck is going on under my arm right now? Do I look like I make pies? That pumpkin was meant to shut this kid the hell up. Clearly a failed plan. Now put the fucking fall fruit in the bag so I can get out of here, or I will smash that fucker all over this floor!

“Yes, it’s getting to be that season,” I replied with a forced smile.

At that point, little lovey was in an upside down arabesque position and had a foot kicking me repeatedly in the chin. I was seriously on the verge of a full blown panic attack.

“Mama’s butt!” he yelled. The checker’s eyes widened. Why was my child saying this? OMG! I felt eyes on me, like literally felt people’s stares burning through my skin. I held it together as best I could. I had this panicky feeling and and uncontrollable urge to grab a paper bag and put it over my head so people couldn’t see me. Because, you know…that would help.

Oh yes. Now the crazy lady is wearing a brown paper bag over her head and is blindly running into various displays around the store with her child still hollering about butts. But at least we can’t see her face.

Fortunately, my debit card was in my back pocket, so I slid it through the swiper. I nailed it. I could see the finish line. I was almost done. However, the 18 year-old sacker had a look on his face like he’d never seen anything like this before. I felt like a total loser, a failure, and an incompetent mother. I felt like the entire store was watching a freakshow, starring me.

Steering the gigantic cart with one hand and holding a tantruming toddler in the other, I pushed the wobbling metal cart from hell out to my minivan with stares coming from every direction. Fishing through my bag for keys and still holding on to my kid for dear life, my son started yelling again, “Mama’s butt! There’s Mama’s butt cheek!” Good gracious, I had no idea why he was saying this. WTF? I was still fumbling for my keys. Looking down into my purse, I did a double take as I was now stunned to be looking at my right breast. My shirt had been pushed down somehow through the tantrum and was now laying under the right cup of my bra exposing my jug. To make things even better, the bra had been shifted, allowing the fellow patrons of the market to see the upper portion of my areola and nipple sticking out as if it just wanted to be part of the action. Fan-fucking-tastic. I had just put on a titty show at Price Chopper. I finally found my keys, unlocked my doors, and immediately put my son in his seat. My knocker was still soaking up the breeze in all it’s glory. I gently placed my ta-ta back where it was supposed to be in it’s holder and pulled my shirt back in position. I violently threw my groceries in the back of my van and drove straight home where I made him sit down while I rambled on about good and bad behavior. I’m pretty sure the lecture I gave him was useless, as he looked past me and asked for fruit snacks, but whatever.

I just have to wonder, that if I can hardly make it through the grocery store, how am I going to make it through life? I see moms do this all the time! This is my third child! I should be better at this by now! Ugh…But oh well. Wardrobe malfunctions happen I guess, and it is kind of funny that my kid thinks my boobs are buttcheeks and that it was not just milk “jugs” or water “melons” that got checked out in the supermarket line this morning. And hell, the sacker got a free show, even if it was from some crazy mother with a screaming child.

Who knows, maybe I’ll even make a pie…? But probably not.

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2 thoughts on “Titty Show at the Grocery Store (a memoir)

  1. And you never went back hahaha
    I would have been ropeable! Perhaps you should keep a list of things that have happened that have caused you to expose yourself as a direct result of your children 🙂

    Like

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