Last minute torture. . .er. . .trip

I'm sorry I haven't been around lately; I've been extremely busy with this family get-together. It was wonderful!


“Darling, let me take you away from all of this,” Rhett Butler said, pointing at the clutter in my kitchen. Globs of cookie batter sat hardening on cookie sheets, while rivers of turkey gravy poured off the counters and congealed on the floor.

John stood by the stove, wearing a Chef Boyardee hat. “How many minutes per pound do I cook the turkey?” he inquired, waving a baseball bat sized thermometer.

“Just ignore everything, and come with me,” Rhett demanded, sweeping me into his powerful arms.

“I-I can’t,” I whispered “my family needs me,”

“Then kiss me once and I’ll be off,” he mumbled.

I watched him through my eyelashes as he lowered his head to kiss me.

“Mama, wake up,” an obnoxious voice screeched, interrupting my dream.

Opening one eye, I saw my oldest regarding me grouchily. “Are you hurt?”

“No.”

“Sick?”

“No.”

“What time is it?”

“Six o’ clock”

“Already?” I asked, yawning. It seemed like I had just crawled into the bed a few minutes earlier. I stayed up until 3 AM, every night that week preparing for the family party, and now, on Friday morning, the lack of sleep was catching up to me.

Wearily, I slunk out of bed and shuffled off to the kitchen, where my savior, the coffee pot, was awaiting. Leaning against the counter, I sipped my coffee and made a mental “to-do” for that day. Suddenly, a feeling of uneasiness enshrouded me, tying my stomach in knots.

“Something awful is going happen today,” I announced, to Seth and John, kissing them on the cheek as they left for work and school, “so be careful.”

“I’m not worried, I don’t have the history you do with mishaps. It’s all in your head; if you think something bad will happen, it will. Don’t worry, nothing will happen.” I watched as he drove away, almost running over my black cat, Midnight, as it scampered toward the porch.
“He’s right,” I told the purring cat as I scratched the white spot under his chin. “Nothing will happen.” Famous last words.


After kitchen was cleaned—my dream of the dirty kitchen was still very fresh in my mind—Robert and I set off to town. We had just entered the interstate, when I heard A LOT of road noise; glancing in the mirror, to my dismay I saw the back window of the Jimmy had come open. Behind the backseat was a whirlwind of empty trash bags I used to line the carpet when the dog rode with us.

Pulling over, I stopped on the shoulder. Mama always told me not to play in traffic, yet here I was, on one of the busiest roads in Texas, jumping out of the truck to close the window, and praying I didn’t become a hood ornament for some inattentive drive.

“Was that fun?” Robert asked after I got back in the truck.

“Yeah, loads.” I replied wryly.

“Can I do it?”

“NO!” I replied quickly, mentally kicking myself for being sarcastic. I should have known my daredevil son would have taken me seriously. “Never play in traffic; it’s very dangerous, and I don’t wanna lose you. I was just trying to be funny when I said getting out in traffic was fun.”

Soon, we arrived at the grocery store. Oh great, I pouted, glancing at my watch as we scampered across the parking lot. I’m running behind schedule; there’s no way I can get everything done in time. I still had two more stops, plus cook; clean the house, and steam clean the rug and furniture.

I plopped Robert into the shopping cart, and faster than a miner can spit, we zipped up and down the aisles. Then we encountered IT. . .every harried shopper’s worst nightmare. . .the unattended cart in the middle of the aisle. “Mama will just move this and we’ll be on our way,” I told my son as I gave the cart a push. It didn’t go the way I wanted, and instead rammed a display of Q-tips, causing them to rain down on my head and scatter everywhere.

The people in the aisle stared at me, some hiding smiles behind their hands as I stared at them. Either I can be indignant, or I can play this off as humor. “Why does this always happen to me?” I asked jovially. Everyone chuckled with me.

“Don’t worry honey,” an older woman said patting me on the back. “It happened to a store employee just a few minutes ago.”

“My next trick will be getting out of the store unscathed,” I joked as I picked up the Q-tips.

Our next stop was the Dollar Tree, where I planned to get a few table runners. I saw them a few days earlier; they were very ornate, polyester, and a dollar. I couldn’t beat that deal with a stick. Evidently, other people thought the same thing. When we walked in, there were no shopping carts.

Standing near the door, I held a wriggling Robert, waiting for someone to return a cart. An older woman appeared by my side evidently waiting for a cart too, but I thought nothing of it. As a shopper was returning the basket, the lady stepped in front of me and yanked the cart away. “I need it more,” she told us.

Fighting the urge to “deck her halls,” but not with “boughs of holly,” I excused her rudeness by calling, “I hope you find what you need; don’t worry about me, I’ll just stand here and wait for another cart.” A sympathetic customer hastily unloaded their purchases on the counter, and smiling, wheeled the cart over to me. There were only five runners left, the amount I needed; I felt a sense of triumph as I was checking out and heard the rude woman tell ask a clerk if there were any more runners left.

Our last stop was Wal-Mart. Robert eagerly climbed into one of the electric kiddy carts as I paid the dollar. He sang to the Barney tunes as we started shopping, then, as suddenly as it began, the cart stopped. Once it stops there’s no way you can push it, the wheel lock up. Luckily, an employee saw it stall. “Go tell them at customer service, and I’ll wheel this out to the lobby for you,” he said.

I extracted a screaming, red-faced Robert from the cart, and half dragged/ half walked him to customer service.

“Can you help me?” I asked a gum- popping, fingernail painting, employee at the desk.

“I guess,” she sighed, blowing on her nails.

“Look lady,” I said, plopping Robert on the counter. “I’ve had a very stressful day, and I could probably bite steel nails right now. I’m SO SORRY I’m bothering you, but I was told to come up here and tell you my kiddy cart broke down.

“And what do you want me to do?” she retorted.

“Was it CART 6?” another desk employee asked me.

“Yes.”

“That’s the same cart that broke down on me last night,” the second employee said.

“And, again, what am I supposed to do about it?” the first employee asked.

“Give her the dollar back,” her co-worker replied coldly. “I’m so sorry madam,” the co-worker told me.

Grudgingly, the first employee handed me a dollar from the register. Robert was forced to ride in a regular cart, which he hated and didn’t mind telling me.

Oh well, lately most of the shopping trips went smoothly; I guess I was due for drama.