It was not me who overfilled the Ziploc baggie with ranch dressing and potato slices (who knew 14 lbs was too much?). As soon as I started shaking, it wasn’t me who watched horrified as it popped open and 12 of those pounds flew in all directions around my kitchen.
And it sure wouldn’t have been me who picked up the ones without yucky stuff stuck to them and put them on the pan to bake. That woulda been like, gross – and some kind of violation to the 30-second rule. It also wasn’t me who pulled a hair out of my potatoes tonight.
It was not me who finally got frustrated with the 15 minute wait at Old Navy.
They had ONE lane open at first… with just two people in front of me, one of which was some dude with two kids and some freaky chick in a trench coat and leopard spiky boots who kept kissing all over him. He was obviously not gonna leave until they caved and gave him some price adjustment.
So they opened another lane. Me and another woman headed over there.
They close the lane.
I go back to the other lane. Behind Mr. The Customer Is Always Right Even When My Girlfriend Won’t Leave My Lips Alone Long Enough For Me To Explain It.
Other lane opens again. Only another couple beats me back over there.
I settle in behind them, watching a manager stand idly by chatting with two other employees.
Ringing up the purchases, the chick realizes her jeans are on sale. Her size 12 relaxed fit dark wash jeans.
OMG! I need another pair!
Hon, go get me another pair.
The guy gives her a blank stare that we women all know.
WHAT THE HECK is this woman asking him to do?
You know he’s gonna bring back pair of low rise size 2 skinny leg flare jeans in a light wash. Guys aren’t equipped for these kind of details (sorry hon).
The guy’s deer-in-the-headlights look wins out. She hands him the credit card and says, “I’ll go get ‘em” and shoots me a bright smile.
You know, the kind that says “Oops! I know we cut in line and your kid has been sitting in a wet diaper for 15 minutes, but they’re on sale!”
I glance over and the manager is looking disinterestedly at me – watching the whole thing.
That was it.
It was not me who lost it and raised my voice to a volume that surprised myself.
It was not me who ceremoniously dumped both armloads of clothing on a nearby display.
It was not me who said “YOU KNOW, YOU MIGHT WANT TO OPEN UP ANOTHER LANE IF PEOPLE ARE HAVING TO WAIT FIFTEEN MINUTES AND THINGS ARE NOT MOVING!”
It was not me who had everyone’s attention. It was not me who had the sudden urge to flee the scene with my soaked son.
But it most assuredly WAS that stinky size 12’s son who decided to block my non-escape with a cart that he was carelessly racing around.
You’re gonna love this – he smashed it straight into the side of Itty Bit’s stroller as I was heading toward the door.
The lesson I didn’t learn? Maybe a bit more patience is in order?
(and dang… I had the CUTEST plaid winter coat for my niece for Christmas!)
Enough Not Me’s… what are yours?