Traffic Jam, Aisle 13:

Listen, boys (if there are any boys who know me and read this blog - if you don't know me, keep reading, knock yourself out. If you do know me and would prefer the word tampons never come between us, then move along), you may want to skip today's little entry. That's fine. I'll still be here tomorrow and I'll still love you. I hope you'll forgive me for calling you "boys."

Now that they're gone, I want to share a little scene with my lady friends. Since you're my lady friends, I presume you have lady bits and aunt flo and all that sweet jazz that comes along with being a lady. So great, you'll appreciate this story. For those of you who are mothers, you will appreciate this story even more, since Carter and Lilly are in it and they embarrass me.

So yesterday went to the store. I was running to get just a few things between after-school-pickup (after club, actually, since it was about 4 or so -- the time being an essential piece of this story) and prepping-for-dinner time. It was snowing mad-big snowflakes - coming down in massive quantities too, which only made the trip just a scunch more interesting.

Okay, so imagine this scene: you've gone through most of the store. Your 3 1/2 year old son is pulling on your new purple dress banshee-screeching I want to wear your dressssss while your 7 year old daughter is stepping in and out of his personal space for the sole purpose of enticing a punch from him so that HE will be punished for using physical violence (something you must admit to considering yourself at this moment). You pull out the mommy voice, park the cart, and say "You. Here. You. There. One finger. Touch the cart. No PUSHING no PULLING no TOUCHING ANYTHING ELSE." in your best Mommy voice.

That's where I was. I needed one more thing: tampons. That's it. Seems easy, right? Find box, grab box, run like hell.

But somewhere around 3:45, I think I must've lost my brain. As did the FIVE OTHER LADIES creating a tampon-related traffic jam in the 13th aisle of the grocery store. Having never been in a tampon-related traffic jam, I thought I should tread carefully and stood back to wait, scanning the boxes. I blew past the pink and white boxes. Not my thing. Then I was stuck. Blue boxes. Name Brand. Not Name Brand. 80 count, 30 count, 15 count, and 8 count (EIGHT? Who in the HELL needs only 8 tampons? Put that shit in the travel aisle, Kroger). Paper or Plastic? Mixed bag or all the same? Suddenly, in my after-4-dimness, I had no idea what I needed and turned into one of six apparent tampon zombies clogging up Aisle 13.

I'm pretty sure I stood there, mouth agape, for approximately 30 seconds before, in the corner of my eye, I saw Lilly wrap her scarf around Carter's neck 4 times and then kick him into a display case of Leggs pantyhose, which snapped me out of my zombie-like state long enough to grab some box based not on its size, color, or contents, but based on the bright yellow Kroger Sale Item tag underneath while hissing "DO NOT CHOKE YOUR BROTHER IN PUBLIC" as if private choking were acceptable.

And THEN running like hell.

So dear Leggs representative, I'm sorry, so very very sorry, that my son's butt broke your display case. I'm even sorrier to know that he did it in a way that nary a single package was moved when he hit the case, but when you move it later, you will be blessed with a waterfall of women's pantyhose. You lucky lucky person.

As for the rest of you, I might finally understand why you use your child-free hours to shop. And why you delight in your Costco membership that requires you to complete this little trip once every 3 years.