[ back ]
Shopping excursion is exercise in inclemency
(by Christine Thome - July 28, 2010)
BEYOND MY CONTROL, BY CHRISTINE THOME
Shopping excursion is exercise in inclemency
Oh, how I long for the days when I was 10 years old, and the only things I needed to carry with me were a big fat comb that fit in my back pocket and my Orange Crush-flavored lip gloss that fit perfectly into my left front pocket.
Now, many years later, I am literally a pack mule for all of my family's belongings. While the outside of my purse only measures 16 inches wide and 8 inches tall, I'm pretty sure the interior is something like 6 feet deep.
I decided to take inventory of everything that was in my purse and here is what I found:
Three lipsticks -- one good, two empty.
Two pairs of sunglasses -- both broken.
My wallet, void of all money.
My daughter's wallet, bulging with babysitting money.
Two sets of keys.
One cell phone.
A movie ticket stub.
A chewed piece of gum that was thankfully wrapped in a piece of paper. A chewed piece of gum that was not wrapped in paper.
A grocery list from two weeks ago. Coupons that I always forget I have until after I've made a purchase.
Sand.
Seventy-three cents in mostly pennies.
Last weekend, we made a family trip to Costco. Something about the allure of being able to buy a foot-long hot dog and a gigantic soda, all for only $1.50, and eating it while oohing and aahing over stacks of tires and even higher stacks of toilet paper, appeals to my husband and our four children.
As we enter the warehouse, my family immediately hands me their cell phones, wallets and keys so that they may have a hands-free shopping experience. My purse suddenly becomes so heavy that I'm pretty sure I would be more comfortable carrying one of Costco's discounted tires around my neck.
"You're cart boy, Jack," my husband John says to our son, throwing a mega-cart in his direction.
"I don't want to be cart boy!" Jack cries. And if Jack doesn't want to be cart boy, he will do everything possible to make sure he doesn't remain cart boy for long. Within minutes, he knocks the back of his sisters' heels with the wheels and crashes into a giant stack of diapers.
"Give me the damn cart," I hiss. "I'll be cart boy!"
The upside to being cart boy is that I can finally rest my 75-pound purse in the baby seat. The downside is that, by the time we reach the bottled water and soft drink aisle, I am forced to remove my purse so we can load up the cart with even more stuff. I am now carrying 75 pounds on my shoulder while pushing a 300-pound grocery cart that will not steer correctly.
I plan to patent this into an exercise regimen called Lostco -- "Lose pounds and your sanity, instantly!"
As we make it through the checkout lane and pay for our "discount" warehouse items with a college fund, my children and husband are miles ahead of me, racing to the be the first one to the car. I continue to be cart boy, pushing my 400 pounds of goods in a stubborn cart. All by myself.
"You got the keys, babe!" John yells back at me without breaking his stride.
"Are you sure?" I shout, huffing and puffing.
"I remember handing them to you!" he yells back as he reaches the locked car.
I stop under the store's overhang and shuffle through my bottomless purse. I find my keys, my daughter's keys and four cell phones. But not John's keys.
"I don't think I have them," I yell into the parking lot as I notice a very black and ominous cloud overhead.
"You have them!" he screams at me. "Hurry up! It's going to pour!"
As I empty the contents of my purse onto the top of the cart, I find his keys just as the skies open up.
I look at my family, soaked and miserable outside the locked car, and I can't help but feel a little joyous revenge.
"Found 'em!" I shout as I smile and wave them above my head.
[ back ]
