Glamour Girl

I am a glamorous mother of four.  And what do we glamorous mommies do on Saturday nights at 8 pm?  We go to Wal-Mart to go grocery shopping, sans children.  As sad as it sounds I get very excited about these late night shopping trips, even if they are to Wal-Mart.  I've got nothing against Wal-Mart, but I prefer to go somewhere else if I'm able. I should also mention that I make these trips in my pajamas.  Oh get over it, you do it too. And, no matter how uppity and sophisticated you think you are, the truth is, if you have children two things are inevitable:

1. You WILL shop at Wal-Mart at some point in your life, and
2. It will be in your pajamas.

I did manage to put a little make-up on, just in case I ran into one of those "judgy-mcjudgersons" that I'm almost guaranteed to see.  You know they type.  It's the woman in her stiletto heels and perfectly manicured nails picking out organic shit to spread on her low-carb tree bark.  She'll see you, flash a million dollar smile, and look you up and down about 6 times during your 30 second "conversation."  All I can think when I see this look of disapproval is, "But, you failed to notice that I did NOT kill my children today, in fact I even fed them...three times.  And I worked out and (luckily for you) showered."

If you can make it through this part of the trip, it's all uphill from here.  As you look around, you'll begin to notice your fellow shoppers.  And although you are wearing cut-off sweatpants and an old t-shirt, you'll feel as thought you may be ready for the red carpet.  You've got to love Wal-Mart shoppers, especially late-night shoppers.  However, the best part of the trip is seeing the pimple-faced, shaggy-haired teenage stock boy trying desperately to align the ever elusive tampon boxes.  How does one get this job?  What contest in Hell did he lose?  He fumbles with the boxes, and although his face is the color of a tomato and sweat is pouring from his temples, he perseveres.  I linger there for a moment, just to be...well...me, and give him a little grin.  Oh baby boy, if you don't know your way around a box of tampons...

Now comes the checkout.  Here's the thing, I only ask, "How are you?" because you asked me first.  I don't actually want to know.  And not ONLY because I'm a bitch (although my sister would disagree) but also because I don't know you.  Our relationship is strictly customer/cashier.  I do not automatically know your mother-in-law's third cousin simply because I got into your checkout line.

I get home and begin unloading groceries and realize that once again I've gotten everything that EVERYONE else needed.  Toothpaste for the kids, soap for the husband, whipping cream for the baby, and various other items on "my" list.  What have I forgotten for perhaps the 53rd time in a row?  A new eyeliner pencil. The one I'm currently using was a gift in my Christmas stocking...last year.  And you'd think this would be easy to remember because every time I use it, the color I achieve by applying it is actually blood that's drawn by the little wooden shards sticking off the end.  If I "sharpen" it one more time, it will be dust.  But, you better believe everyone else got their crap.  Not everyone can be this glamorous.