In Hindsight

I probably shouldn't have fired off that last post in quite the manner I did. For one thing, the police are probably tracking down me and my butcher knives. For another, I write for a national, Christian publication. People google my name. And I have an article out.

Shoot.

I probably shouldn't have posted ANYTHING I posted today.

But in the interest of Keeping It Real, I'm going to leave them. All of them. Because I never claimed to not be a sinner.

I will tell you this much. When the nasty ole biddy told me off, I said, through clenched teeth that may have resembled a sweet smile and in a sing-song voice replied not, "I'll eviscerate you in fiction!" but "That's where we're headed."

The longer version of the story is that my 22 month old baby isn't weaned and probably should be. As I'm headed out of town this weekend and sharing a hotel room with women I don't know well who are younger than myself, I desperately need a new bra. The only one that I have that fits is toast and it is embarrassing. I have two choices. Shop with one kid. Shop with four kids. I chose one. Unfortunately that one still thinks bra shopping (rather the trying on of bras) looks like a midafternoon snack. Sounded good to him. I decided what I wanted to buy and then sat down in my private dressing room (next to dog sock lady who was making comments and he wasn't even having a fit yet) and privately began to nurse my baby. When the clock said it was time to go pick up the other kids, I told the Tiny Tyrant that it was time to go pick up the kids. He thought he would like to keep eating, please.

So.

I scooped up my stuff, dumped it on the rack where you return unwanted items (even thought I wanted a couple), put on my coat, ditched the cart and headed for the door. Charming has been screaming for 4 seconds at this point. Nasty woman accosts me with her cattiness. I reply. Continue out the door (where another sweet older lady tells me "I"m sorry to tell you it gets worse before it gets better." I didn't argue with her as I've had to do hold downs on four year olds in grocery store aisles before.).

And somewhere in that 15 second departure from the dressing room to the door or possibly in the 15 seconds of screaming from the door to the van, Tiny Tyrant lost his bear slipper. Which I love. I don't know if the Tiny Tyrant cares at all. And I went back to the store and it isn't in lost and found. Nor in the parking lot.

And I didn't buy my bra on the return trip either.

I've totally lost all desire to spend money there.

And she wsan't even an employee. (The employees were sympathetic. Or grateful that I was leaving. Something other than RUDE.)

Maybe Kohl's should offer some tact for sale.