If there is one thing I would rather do without my child, besides use the restroom and sleep, it would be go to the grocery store.
When I’m alone, I kind of like going to the grocery store. It’s kind of relaxing to me. I like to mosey and look at all the food and do character studies of my fellow shoppers. As I’m typing that sentence just now I realize just how incredibly dull I am and why we never get invited to parties. Nonetheless, it is so.
Anyway, today I had to make a trip to the store for a few things and I had Sean with me. Unfortunately the length of my grocery list was slightly longer than the length of his interest and patience combined.
So that we might get our shopping done and out of the store without one or the other of us being sent to time out, I allowed him to “drive” the cart – which I knew was a mistake, but I was desperate. And hopeful. Desperate to get my shopping done and hopeful that this might just be the one time he could push the cart without running over my foot or ramming me in the butt with it.
But no. Of course not.
After he had run over my foot, sideswiped an electric car lady and then bumped me headlong into a display of pork and beans which I nearly knocked over, I had a strong word with him and told him he was being careless and naughty and it had to stop NOW or he would NEVER push a grocery cart as long as he lived which MIGHT not be very long if he runs over my foot again. And he knows when I start talking in capital letters that I mean business.
After a few minutes passed and my blood pressure returned to normal, I cleared the air by asking him if he was still my boyfriend.
“Yeah," he sighed, "I’m your boyfriend – your naughty boyfriend.”
“No,” I said under my breath, “That would be your father.” (insert dirty old French man laugh).