Wednesday, March 10, 2010

Plunger Promenade

There are some purchases that just shouldn't be made on their own. Sometimes it's necessary to pull random things off the isle and onto the cashier belt in order to cushion your embarrassment. Last night, I didn't feel like cushioning anything. I had no shame. The day was awful, one of those Jodi and the Terrible Horrible No Good Very Bad Day days. I kicked it off bright and early breaking my dishwasher disposal by bombarding it with leftover stinky potato peels. Turns out disposals don't like spud peels anymore than I do. I call my husband and he asks me to stop at the store to grab a cheap plunger to suck the peels out of the sink. Because I’m miserable with allergies today my eyes were bloodshot and swollen and my nose was full of mucus (stupid pollen), I decided to swallow my pride and buy the darn plunger sans any random item cushion. Let the cashier think what she will. I scoured the store for any sign of a plunger. I didn't dare ask for help; wandering the isles alone with a clearly-sick face and asking for a plunger wasn't really my cup o’ tea. Strangely enough I found them next to the kitchen cleaners in the far back corner of the store. Hmm. With plunger in hand, I wonder how I'm going to make it to the checkout this way without running into someone I know because this is one of the worst possible and therefore most likely times I would. I avoid the isles and skirt through the baby diaper and swimsuit section; head low, object behind back. I appear to examine a tankini while the last person in line finishes up. When I rush forward and place the plunger on the belt, I find I don't know what to do with my hands. I can imagine what she's thinking, so how do I act casual? How do I stop my face from turning so red and for crying out loud, how do I get her to hurry the heck up?! After she rings me up for the $3 vexation, she has the audacity to ask me if I need a bag! Of course! I'm not trudging the rest of the way out to my car exposed like this! I hastily grab the sack and turn to leave. I pass the next check-out over, and see someone who curiously resembles me, awkward stance and all. I pass slowly and peek over at her single item purchase: Pregnancy test-no other items. Our eyes meet after she spots my plunger handle. I give her the courtesy look-away, and keep moving-- cowardly deciding to never again go the brave single purchase route- no cushion.

Monday, March 8, 2010

CSI: Jodi Robs Walmart Checker

It's good that we are all such close friends around here. This way I feel like I can spill my deep dark secrets. Like the fact that by day I participate in thievery. Hold that thought.

It's no wonder I despise grocery shopping. I never make it all the way through without incident. Today was a relatively short shopping trip, I had a list and everything. At about the half hour mark, the poor boy had fallen asleep in the cart seat. We had no jackets with us to cushion his poor little head (darn this warm weather), so in order to lessen the times his forehead clonked on the cart handle, we decided to skeedadle to the checkout.
Now, recently Andrew and I have come across Dave Ramsey and his book "Total Money Makeover". We've been following his wickedly simple advice, which in part involves using envelopes for expenditures like groceries. So on my way out today, I grabbed the little "grocery envelope". In order to head off a tantrum storm, I allowed my kids to talk me into an extra box of plain pasta (apparently the thought of anything but elbow macaroni was just unbearable to Shea). Plain pasta can't hurt, right? It's a dollar a box, Jack's ready to clunk his noggin again, let's avoid the whine/mom explanation/fit fest, grab another box and just get the heck out of here.
So at the check out, get this: I'm $0.73 cents short. Are you kidding me? I do a quick inner debate to decide whether I should use the debit card, or just put something back. Trying to stick to the budget, I grab the macaroni, and ask her to take it off.
The young checker smiles sweetly and refuses, stating she'll just give me a dollar. I try to quickly explain (the line is piling up behind me) that, no in that case I'll just use my card, after all, I have the money, I just didn't want to bother with the debit card when I was so close. To my horror, she pulls one straight from her own pocket, takes my cash, and rings it up.
Here was my dilemma: She looked so happy to be helping me out, that I just didn't have the heart to argue with her. However, I had the money and didn't like the idea that she pulled one from her own pocket when I really didn't need the tantrum avoiding pasta. And the part I'm most unhappy to admit, is that my pride was hurt more than anything. I was so embarrassed knowing everyone in line thought I couldn't pay for my food.
The whole drive home I felt horrible. What if she needed that dollar for her lunch break? Did the fact that I have no backbone mean I just robbed the poor checkout girl?

I've learned a few things from this experience:

If I'm using cash at the store, bring a calculator for crying out loud

There are wonderfully kind people in this world

Always carry coats for the boy to crash on if necessary, and

Pasta is evil.

So, did I just commit robbery? What would you have done?

Tuesday, March 2, 2010

There Once Was a Daddy Who Lived In a Shoe

One time, when I was five years old, I was getting ready for school. I was trying to put on my shoe, but it wasn't fitting. It felt like a sock or something was shoved against the toe. I got my dad to help me, and he couldn't get it on either, which was weird since the matching shoe fit fine. He pulled my foot out and out crawled a ginormous daddy-long-leg.

Creepy eh? Daddy long-legs are huge anyway, but to a five year old ack! He was big enough that I did not squish him when shoving my foot against his body. The creepy bugger held his own.

Yesterday I was putting on one of my shoes and I felt something suspicious when I put my foot in. I jerked it back out and threw the shoe on the ground. Upon close (hesitant) inspection, I found the shoe to be free of any creepies.

I still couldn't put it on for an hour.

Monday, March 1, 2010

Soggy Scone Bandit

The Setup:
A young, vibrant, intelligent, brunette, multi-tasking (yay, mom plug!) mother was readying herself for the shower when the phone rang. Leaving the water running, she steps out of the room to answer it.

The Crime:
Mother notices the pre-made scones for the family's weekly go cheap and easy navajo taco dinner have gone mysteriously missing.

The Evidence:
A chair left carelessly near the scene of the crime, and pulled against the counter indicates the bandit is disadvantaged by an unfortunate lack of height.

The Capture:
Ah, brilliant strategy used by the bandit: ducking into the running shower to throw us off of his scent so he can consume his soggy goods.

Unfortunately for this duck, his number is up.

The Punishment:

Mom's Motto: Go tough or go home. He'll never think of attempting this again.