I hate shopping at Wal-Mart. I've said this before. It's crowded, the aisles are narrow, the produce is a joke. But the dang low prices...they get me every time.
Approximately every other week (once a week if we're really unlucky) we make the family trip to Wal-Mart to load up on groceries and printer paper and new socks.
And it's pretty much the moment we walk through the front door that I remember how much I don't like going here.
I think Wal-Mart has a strange effect on my kids. Suddenly, they don't realize there are other people in the world. They walk in front of other carts and shoppers, getting run over and stepped on and tripped over multiple times. And they suddenly lose their hearing. They wander every which way and can't seem to hear me in the least. We've tried putting them in the cart, but that leads to screaming and Evil Knieval-esque acrobatics to get back out.
The one thing that I really have to hand it to my kids about is that they never, ever ask us to buy anything. They do like to walk down the toy isle to see if there are any new Transformer toys. They like to see the fish. But they never once ask for anything.
I love those boys.
This weekend was particularly special.
Bug kept walking really close to the shelves and knocking things off. I would ask him to put them back, but then I forget...they've lost their sense of hearing.
Monkey somehow managed to knock some type of cart bumper around the frozen meat island out of the fasteners to the ground, so we just leaned the 10 foot piece of rubber up against the island. And went to check out.
When he sees that we are approaching the register, Monkey insists on being placed in the cart. Why this time, I don't know. But without fail, he asks.
As we are taking things out of our cart to be bagged, Monkey suddenly starts pointing at the magazines, asking to get closer. I lift him out and carry him over. "What are you looking at?"
His magazine of choice...
He reaches out, touches the cover and says, "I want this one."
That's just great. Thank you, Sports Illustrated, for starting them young. Apparently 3 years old isn't too young to notice the newest SI swimsuit edition. The first time ever he asks for something at Wal-Mart, and this is what he chooses.
He spent the rest of the time we were checking out standing by the magazine rack, staring up at the magazine.
Hubster and I were a mixture of horrified and completely amused. We might have laughed a little. Don't judge us.
As we're finishing up, Hubster takes the boys to the drinking fountain. That is when I notice the cashier is starting at me.
"Do you have kids," she asks, in an exasperated tone of voice.
Um.. Yes. Did you not see the little one mesmerized by the topless model and the larger one swinging from the cart?
"So you know how tired I am."
Yes, it is exhausting. How old are your kids? I'm trying to be polite here.
"No, I don't have any yet. I'm pregnant."
Oh. Yes, I remember that part of pregnancy. But it gets better.
"Does it!?" She almost yells at me.
I just stare.
"How old were you when you had your first?"
Why is she asking me this? Should I answer? Should I just ignore her? But I tell her. 20.
"I'm 20! Was it a planned pregnancy?"
Why, yes it was.
At this point, she throws her hands up in the air.
"How come everyone has a planned pregnancy except me!?!"
Thank goodness she's done ringing up my groceries. I wish her best of luck with her pregnancy. As I push the cart over to the boys, I wonder for just a minute if I'm some alternate universe where it's okay for cashiers to let you in on their personal lives.
And then Monkey throws his hat and hits a lady in the head with it.
And then I realize I'm not in an alternate universe.
I'm exactly where I should be.
On my way out of Wal-Mart.