I went shopping and ran errands with my mama this morning. Biiiiiiig mistake. I should've known it would be a madhouse--tomorrow is mother's day, it's sunny and warm out, next week is the local Strawberry Festival--but did I really think of all that before I said: "Hey you want to go to the nursery and run errands?" No, no, I did not. Dammit.
I'm a misanthrope. I know it. I own it. I'm cool with it. I try to stay out of other people's way when I shop--it's only polite. I don't know what's more irksome--the woman at Lowe's with the two out of control tweens who were running up into checkout aisles and throwing shit from her basket (one had the charming habit of putting a rubbermaid-esque storage tub on his head, then walking around like a defective robot, banging into other shoppers); the dude from Kentucky with the white Lexus that almost hit my 67 year old mother in the Wal-Mart crosswalk (I gave him the finger and cussed him out); or the general people who shouldn't be allowed to operate a shopping cart because they seem unable to walk and push at the same goddamned time. I know that there's a lot of stuff on the shelves--I know options are scary and overwhelming, that the sheer capitalist bounty of Wal-Mart is akin to a spiritual experience--but do you need to park your cart in the middle of the aisle and stand between it and the shelving moving back and forth muttering to yourself?
Ach. Time to go out and dig in the dirt and plant some of my purchases.
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