, , ,

I had to take my kids for their well checks the other day.
They keep my pediatricians office at six million degrees and I sweat like the new guy on Murder She Wrote. I’m surprised they haven’t called dyfs on me yet. If lived there, I would vacation in hell. It’s probably nicer this time of year.

Maybe it’s a sterilization thing, like, instead of washing things, they just make the whole place one giant autoclave.
I was sweating, the children were busy breaking expensive medical equipment, and, as usual, I was fruitlessly trying to remember if there was anything I forgot.

My pediatrician came in. Dr. M is easily the most awesome pediatrician in the biz. Soft spoken, extremely smart, and good at what he does. The kids don’t even feel their vaccinations, as opposed to my childhood, When they just cut a hole in my arm with a dull butter knife, and then poured the vaccine in.

J had two shots in preparation for kindergarten, and K had one, to get her the fuck out of the house too—-I mean to get her ready for preschool.
They were good, neither of them even cried.

I needed to go to the grocery store afterward, and there were no complaints. Off we went.
On the way inside the busiest grocery store ever, but the only grocery store between my house and the pediatrician, I ran into someone blocking the fucking front door of the place. I am instantly enraged.
You know, it’s the little things.
She’s got one of those enormous- two seater in front- shopping carts, and she’s going through her wallet directly in front of the entrance. What’s worse, after I alerted her to the situation, she did NOT remedy it.


Motherfucker has two of the brattiest most obnoxious children upon which I have ever lain eyes. Of course, they get it from her. She’s that mom that you could hear throughout the store, screaming at her kids.
I tried not to giggle, (as where but for the grace of God go I) but it was difficult. I giggled in produce when MATTHEW (gotta be all caps since she did nothing but scream this child’s name during our entire acquaintance) had a tantrum over strawberries, I laughed in meat when RYAN picked up a leaky package of chicken thighs. I giggled every time MATTHEW or RYAN got out of their seats without permission.

But the best was at the checkout. MATTHEW saw me waiting in line to check out, tired and sweaty, and he pointed his fat little finger at me and asked, as only a child can, “why your face so red?”
I said:
“because I’m a fat Irish lady with two kids.”

Apparently MATTHEW didn’t get it.
“Why you so red?” He asked.

His mother, you’ll remember her from earlier, her name is motherfucker, suddenly became very embarrassed, and told MATTHEW to shut up and leave me alone.
Jesus fucking Christ in a tube sock, you reap what you sow. If I were motherfuckers kids I’d be getting out of the cart without permission too, just to get away from motherfucker.

“It’s fine,” I said. I’m not one to embarrass easily, especially over my sweaty ruddy complexion.
I said:
“I have two lovely children, but taking care of them makes me hot and sweaty. Especially at the grocery store.” Motherfucker took her terrible children to the other side of the checkout lines.

We’ll have to end here. K just sneezed a huge fat sticky green snot all over my foot. They’re lovely children.