“Hey! Betty Blow Job! If they’re interrupting your super important phone call, why don’t you walk your happy-ass to another cash register?”
That’s what I would have said had I been a little bit braver, but instead I just looked her in the eye for 2 seconds and turned back around. My brain continued to chew her out all the way to the car. Right up until my son said, “Mom, are you mad at us? You look mad.”
I felt a little bad. “I’m not mad at you guys. Sorry, Mommy was just thinking about something else. I’ll be happy now.”
And I was…right up until a few minutes ago when I started to write this blog.
I’m usually pretty good at letting things go. You know (parents), when you get that look from people (non-parents) that says, “Your kids are monsters and you’re a horrible person.” I can usually let that slide off my back side. If only because I remember, pre-kids, wondering why people couldn’t control their screaming toddler in the restaurant. I remember thinking that the mother of twins at the mall should really put more effort into wearing something besides sweat pants. I remember being the best, most kick-ass, cool and hot mom on the block…before I became a mom. And my kids would also be kick-ass. They were going to listen or I was going to give them ‘The Look”. And ‘The Look” was all it was gonna take! When we were in public they were going to walk quietly with me, not ask me to buy them things, not point out the man missing his leg and yell, “GROSS! WHAT’S WRONG WITH THAT GUY???” My kids were perfect…before I had kids. So that’s why it’s easy for me to keep my head up during those times when my son is tugging on my jeans begging for whatever stupid thing has Spongebob on it and my daughter is shouting, “I poopies! I poopies!”
They just haven’t walked in my shoes yet. It’s okay. I forgive them.
But apparently today I really wasn’t in the mood to forgive one of the non-parents. She was probably 10 years younger than me. (which makes her about 10. No? Not falling for that one? Fine, she was 15. 😉 ) Pretty, dressed great, perfect hair and make-up, arms full of teeny tiny clothes she was getting ready to purchase, and a cell phone attached to her ear. I didn’t realize 20-somethings still used their phones for talking. Maybe her parents wouldn’t splurge for the unlimited texting package. Anyways, she was walking past me and my kids when she must have forgotten where she was because she says to the person on the phone, “A BLOW JOB. ARE YOU SERIOUS?”
OH. MY. GOD. I cringed! To her, that was a tiny sentence and probably something she says quite comfortably in the presence of friends and family and children and nuns and little old ladies. To me, it was like a bomb going off! The ticking began and then “Mom, what’s a blow job?”
“Is a blow job like a Blow Pop?”
“Can I have a blow job?”
“I want a blow job!”
BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!
Luckily, I totally made up that last part. My kids never heard her say the word or if they did they didn’t care about it. But I was still a little annoyed. I mean, I’m all for free speech. I think people should get to say just about anything they feel even if it shows how truly ignorant they are (Rush Limbaugh). But I also follow the philosophy of The Byrds in that there’s a time for everything. A time to laugh. A time to weep. A time to dance. The time for blow jobs is not when I’m in the department store picking out ginormous preggo panties! But since nothing was repeated by my little mocking birds we went on our merry way to the check-out.
Well guess who ended up behind us in the Check-out line? Yep, the Deep Throat Specialist of JCP! She was still on her phone yammering away, but I really wasn’t paying attention. I was too busy separating my stuff in my head, “Okay, I’ll hide this, this, and this till it gets closer to Summer. That way Steven won’t kill me when he sees how much I’ve bought today!”
Then suddenly I heard Miss Blow Job America of 2012 say to her friend on the phone, “Hold on. I can’t hear you. This woman isn’t watching her children.” Excuse me? Uh…Pardon. This woman. and her children.
I looked down at my kids who were…maybe not acting normal, but definitely weren’t being too loud or annoying. On the contrary, they were better behaved than I expected them to be after being in a department store for an hour. They were actually break-dancing on the store floor. Or they could have just been having muscle spasms. It’s hard to tell the difference. But either way, they weren’t in anyone’s way or screaming or crying or doing anything else that I would think most people would find highly disturbing. They were dancing. And laughing. And people were walking past smiling at how cute they were. Sure, the time for break-dancing might not have been at the check-out, but I think kids can get a small pass for spontaneous moments of happiness and fun.
Anyways, more than anything I think it was just the way she spat the word children that upset me. Like they’re a hybrid of rat-monkeys with spastic colons and scraggly teeth. Come on. They’re kids! So I turned and looked at the girl and thought, “Yo, Queen of the BJ’s, why don’t you worry a little less about my kids and more about what flies outta your potty mouth.”
But I didn’t. And I didn’t yell at my kids either. As long as their not a hazard to anyone, they can break-dance in JC Penney if they want to! They also sang “Twinkle Twinkle Little Star” in a Kay Jewelers and pretended to be dogs in the food court! And I loved it!
I think what’s making me mad now though is that I didn’t say anything to her. Rachel-of-10-years-ago would have said something to the egotistic know-it-all. Rachel-of-10-years-ago probably wouldn’t have even waited for the check-out line. Rachel-of-10-years-ago would have said, “Excuse me. Are you talking to me? Do you have your own talk show? Are you the Oprah of Oral Sex? No? Then shut the hell up. I’ve got kids here!” Then again, Rachel-of-10-years-ago WAS the egotistical know-it-all, so…
I guess I have no other option than to forgive and forget. Or at least forgive. I hope I don’t forget. I’d like to run into that chick again in 10 years when she’s wearing ratty ol’ sweat pants, has a baby on her hip, one screaming at her feet, and another talking on her cell phone about blow jobs ! Keeping my fingers crossed!
Thanks for reading!!!