So I was at the store the other day and I was getting a few essentials. Bread, milk, Kotex.
Did I mention that I had all four kids with me? I did. The 5-year-old asked, as I grabbed the 24-pack of Kotex, “What’s that Mom?”
And before I could say a word, my 4-year-old answered. Keep in mind the four year old is a boy and the only boy of four children.
“It’s bandages for your butt,” he says. Loudly. In the store. With people around.
I have to say that I’m very proud of myself. I didn’t blink an eye. I didn’t look around to see who might have heard him. I didn’t even blush and in fact I smiled and maybe even laughed a bit. And I continued to shop, not even worried when it came time to check out that the cashier was a male. Of course, by now, I’ve gone through four natural childbirths. I think there were about 14 people in the room of the first one. During one of them, I’m not sure which one, my doctor brought along a very good looking doctor-in-training. And there I was with my feet in the stirrups.
But really, it wasn’t that long ago when buying Kotex was something that didn’t come easy. If I needed Kotex, or Tampons, I’d go to the store and I’d grab something large, preferably something that would drape itself over the box of Kotex. And since grocery stores don’t sell a lot of towels, at least they didn’t back then, I’d buy washcloths or a bag of cat food.
Next, I’d go all over the store looking to see A) Who else is shopping in the store and B) Who is working the cash registers and C) Who are the baggers today?
And then I’d check out the make up, and the shampoo, because make up and shampoo are usually in the general vicinity of the Kotex and the Tampons. I paid special attention to the items across the aisle from the Kotex and the Tampons. Because, if an emergency were to suddenly arise just as I was about to grab a box off the shelf, I wanted to make sure I didn’t look like a complete and total idiot by suddenly becoming very interested in the contents on the box of Rogaine or something meant to cure feminine itches.
As long as everything went according to plan, I’d throw the Kotex in the cart, underneath the washcloths, and head immediately to the cash register. If anyone even remotely cute and of the opposite sex entered the store in the next 10 minutes, I’d abort. In fact, if it was someone I knew, they didn’t have to be cute, I’d just abort the entire shopping experience and walk out, leaving the shopping cart, which of course didn’t belong to me, wherever it ended up as I quickly pushed it away.
So it’s with some pride that I say that I didn’t even give it a seconds thought when I put my “bandages for the butt” on the converyor belt.
