Molested at Target

I usually don't post on Saturday.  But If I don't write about this now I'll have to go into therapy and blogging is cheaper.

I slept in and woke up to birds chirping, piano playing, dogs barking, kids riding big wheels in the backyard.  Perfect.

I quickly made a to do list in my head, because that is always reliable (extreme sarcasm).  I got dressed and asked my 15 yr fashion consultant if my blouse made me look like a butterfly.

Yes, a little.

Oh well.  I did not change.  It's spring and I like butterflies.   I went to Target as-is and hoped I did not run into anyone with butterfly net.

Let me say right now, I love Target.  Now I know lots of women say that but I REALLY love Target.  I want to marry it and have little Target babies of my very own that sing cute Target commercials.  

My mental list first told me to look at shoes.  I needed wanted a pair of strappy black heels.  And there they were.   $24.99.  More Target love points.  Then I needed a birthday gift for my TanMan to take to a 13yr old boy birthday party.  Normally I would head straight to the iTunes gift cards but I was feeling a bit creative so I headed to the camping section.  I pick out a headlamp and mini lantern.  I was feeling a bit awesome for those choices.  Then I passed the CDs and the Glee soundtrack sung to me.  I had been meaning to download some songs but had not so I bought the entire CD.  Feeling a little more awesome.

I was really on a roll when I remembered to actually pick up a gift bag, tissue paper and birthday card.  Now, I did not have a cart.  I think that if I don't get a cart I won't spend as much.  But I am amazed at how much I can actually carry in my arms.  For this trip I was piling things in my cute shoes box.  So by the time I got to the check out I was ready to dump on the conveyor belt.

When I approached there was no room quite yet for my stuff.  There was a seemingly normal looking man in front of me.  He was wearing a puffy down vest.  That should have been my first clue.  As soon as there was room for my stuff he turned to me, took my box of goodies out of my arms and laid them on the conveyor belt.  He even put the space-bar-thingy between our stuff.  My first thought was how chivalarous that was and I told him so because I was still feeling the Target love.

But then chivalry turned to creepiness.  For some reason after he took the box from my arms and I said thank you, I felt the need to point out to him the box lines on my arm.  And Mr. Puffy Vest took that as an invitation to touch my arm.

Not just touch it, but rub it.

With both hands.

Even above my elbows.

No one except my husband gets to rub above my elbows.  And that's on a good day.

He said "Does that feel good?  I am a physcial therapist."

And that gives you permission to feel up arms of complete strangers in Target?

I was dumbfounded, grossed out and in shock.  I am not sure if I said anything.  Should I give him my phone number after this?  Are we dating now?

After what seemed like an eternity, but was probably only 10 seconds he stopped molesting me and started touching my stuff.  No I had not paid for it yet but I had already bonded with it and it was mine.  I have to wear those shoes to church buddy!

He asked me questions about the lantern, where do my kids go to school.  He proceeded to tell me about his son's scholarship to UNLV.  He had procreated?  Of course he had and it had probably happened in line at Target.

I think I was polite though inside I was throwing up.

And as quickly as our relationship started, it ended.  He bought his two large bottles of hydrogen peroxide and left.

Peroxide?  Isn't that stuff used to get blood out of things?  He probably had to clean up after molesting women at Wal-Mart and stuffing them in his trunk.

I was dazed as I walked to my car.  I put in my Glee CD and started singing "Someone to Love", at the top of my lungs.  Yea, we all want someone to love, but not in line at Target.

Just Another Manic Sunday

I am reposting this because
A. I am lazy, and pressed for time and not writing anything new today
B.  I wrote this when no one read my blog
C. It is still true and worth repeating and will hopefully  make you thankful for any Sunday you have that THIS does not happen.
D.  All of the above


Enjoy...

Sunday has always been an effort.  Trying to be relaxed and feel the spirit of the Sabbath while looking for Sunday shoes, printing last minute things for lessons only to discover there in no ink in the printer,  telling my 15 yr old why he can't where white socks to church and getting an equal amount of cheerios in the baggies so there is no screaming in sacrament meeting.  The list goes on.  I will dare say it has gotten a little easier the older the kids have gotten.  But now it is praying that the teenager with her own car gets there safely and on time.  Sitting in sacrament meeting my mind often wanders to THAT day.   That Sunday when the "very jaws of hell gaped open it's mouth wide after me." A bit dramatic, yes, but you can decide for yourself.

Now this tale is not for the faint of heart or weak of stomach as it involves at least 3 different kinds of bodily fluids.  And, unfortunately it is all true.

I was 8 months pregnant with #3.  Makenzie was 3 and Brandon was 17 mos.  Robert was working several different part time jobs.  We had one car and he had to work on Sunday.  We had just moved and were in a new congregation.   My hubby dropped us off with his blessing.  I had good kids and was confident I could handle things on my own.  Sitting in the pew and before sacrament even started, Makenzie wet her pants.  Or I should say, denim skirt.  Not knowing what else to do, or bother someone for a ride home, I told her to stay standing up and let it dry.  We made it through sacrament, stinky, but survived hour one nonetheless. 

 Hour two.  Brandon seemed to not be feeling well.  I took him into the bathroom, where there was no changing table, and laid him next to the sink to change him.  I opened his diaper and diarrhea came pouring out, all over his outfit and the ladies coat laying on the counter.  I was mortified and apologetic as I cleaned up to the best of my ability.  Brandon was now down to his diaper.  I was cuddling him in the hallway when my one tender mercy of the day approached me.  It was my a young mom I knew with an outfit for Brandon.  Her son had grown out of it and she had brought it to church to give to me.  I was so grateful to clothe my son.  That was hour two.

Hour three.  I sat in the last meeting and Brandon was finally falling asleep in my arms.  Ahhhh.  In comes Makenzie's teacher.  With Makenzie in tow.  She had been acting up and the teacher, who was very young, could not handle it.  I had to get up and take Makenzie to the hallway.  After a very "loving" talking to, I took her back to class.  Brandon of coarse was awake by now.  I snuck back into class, and stood in the back swaying my boy back to sleep.  There was a woman sitting next to me with her purse on the floor.  Now, her purse was one of those that had several sections  filled to the brim and would not close.  So it was the perfect target for Brandon's vomit.  Yep.  Right in the purse.  Lesson stopped.   Everyone starred.  Stinky vomit smell enveloped the room.  Doors were open.  I don't remember much after that.  Apologies were made I am sure.  I was in a daze.

I remember waiting outside with my kids and my husband picked us up.

"Hi honey.  How was church?"

So now, 14 years later, I know it can never get any worse than that.  Or at least it hasn't. Yet.

Linda