Well, that’s all I have to say. You guys have a good Monday.
Alright, alright. I’ll tell you.
For those of you that follow my Twitter account, you may have seen a post that said: I HATE shopping for #babyshowers! The rumors will be flying when I buy #Pampers! Does #Walmart allow you to wear masks?
It’s true. I’d rather be seen buying tampons, condoms, Preparation-H, Herpecin L, Anti-diarrhea medication, Depends … hell does your grandfather need someone to go to the pharmacy and demand a refill of his Viagra? I am your girl!
On the other hand, shopping for baby items makes me sweat worse than a pregnant nun! (The beau would be so proud, he loves that saying.) I will abandon a shopping cart of baby items like it is a ticking time bomb if I see anyone I know. “Oh, hey! What are you doing? Me? Just cutting through this section to get to the cleaning goods. Really, it’s the only good purpose for a baby section. It’s a clear path between the men’s underwear to the disinfectants.”
Hmm.. isn’t that ironic.
I know some of you are saying, ‘Oh, Meldawg! That’s awful! Terrible!’
I’m a nice person. I do buy a gift … if I can get in and out of the store without being seen with those items. Look, my neck of the woods is very rural. Everyone knows everybody and every one of those everyones will talk shit about those everybodies. Don’t believe me? This is what I saw on my way to Walmart.
I don’t know why it freaks me out so bad. My items that I buy for baby shower gifts are aimed towards older infants. It’s not like I’m picking up newborn items (just in case I get caught shopping). There really isn’t anything in my cart to suggest that I would be having offspring in the near future. And even though I have gone through cycles of weight gain through the years, I’m sure everyone would agree that it was due to my healthy southern love of fried food and beer.
My gifts you ask? Diapers and five hundred wipes. Let all those other people buy cutesy rubbish for the kid. Five bucks says that kid will still be shitting its pants way longer than that onesie will last. Months down the road, when that kid weighs ten to fifty pounds, they’ll be glad that I didn’t get teething rings or burp cloths. They’ll say ‘Thank God, Mel wanted to avoid all the rumors and got this kid size two and three diapers.’ I think we can all agree that me spending seventy dollars on a child that will hate me is pretty darn charitable.
It’s true. All children hate me. The minute they see me they scream and scream. I’ve heard all the excuses. “Oh he’s teething.” “Oh, she has diaper rash.” “Oh, she’s just fussy because she missed her nap.” “Gingers make him a little uneasy.”
It’s fine, parents. You can be honest. Children hate me and I know it. I don’t know what it is about me, but the mere sight of me will do it every time. Maybe it’s because I don’t do all that goo-goo-ga-ga crap. Teach that baby Spanish or French or Italian if you want it to form words other than English. What is all that ridiculous chatter women do to babies? Sure all babies look like aliens, but that doesn’t mean you have to teach them Mork and Mindy.
Maybe it’s children can sense I want my space away from them. I don’t want to feel comfortable with them. Never in my life have I ever said, you know… I could really use one of those right now. Give me a rabid fox with gangrene any day of the week. At least I know what I’m dealing with there.
My trip to Walmart went fairly unhitched, until I got out to the parking lot. I realized that I had gone down the wrong lane in the parking lot and I needed to cut across to get to my car. I squeezed between my Blazer and a Jeep to get to the back. A big yellow dog hung his head out the back window.
“Hey! How are you doing today, big yellow dog?”
I scooted my cart and opened the hatch, carefully eyeing my surroundings for hidden cameras. The dog’s owner rolled down his window on the passenger side and said, “Do you need help with your stuff?”
This made me super suspicious. a.) What strange man would want to help me unload my purchases? b. ) What strange man from NEW JERSEY would want to help me unload my purchases? (Sorry New Jersey, I hardly every profile… but…)
“Nope, I’m good! Thanks anyway.”
I stuffed all that crap in the back of my car and slammed the hatchback, then quickly scooted my cart to the buggy corral. I slid in my seat with great speed and started the Blazer. Oh Mr. Weird Guy wasn’t done yet. He started flagging me to roll down my window. Against all good judgement, I did.
“Hey, do you have a pen I could borrow?”
“Um. Sure.” I quickly grabbed a pen out of my cup holder and slung it at the man before he could get his door open. I’ve seen this movie before. The cute puppy wasn’t enough to lure me in. He’s going to offer me ice cream next and drag me out of my vehicle.
“I just need it a second. Hang on.”
“I have a ton of pens. Please keep it.”
“Are you sure?”
I dropped that transmission in reverse and almost did a backwards burnout.
My phone beeped and a text popped up. “I see u.”
Don’t worry. That was from Kathy, so that was totally cool.
Walmart. See, we should have stopped in the very first sentence.