And I Call Myself A Good Mother

Yesterday I made a stop at Wal-hell to pick up diapers. Because my life is just that awesome. Jason had asked me to get cash back when I checked out. So I didn't make my usual jump into the self-check out line. I wasn't sure if you could get cash back from the faceless machine so I ventured further down, to the land of "real life" checker.

Checking me out on this day would be 800 year old Gloria but only after she got done with the gazillion people in line ahead of me. One of which she would have an intense conversation about skillets and canned deviled ham with. All while I stood patiently with my diapers and 23 party favors for Monkey's holiday bags at school. Gloria is synonymous with molasses evidently.

I was the picture of patience. I stood. I shifted from foot to foot. I sighed. I rolled my eyes. I tapped my finger nails on the cart handle. I made serious 'move your deviled ham eating ass now' eye contact. You know, totally patient-like.

As I stood I started to look around me. And that's when I saw him. I saw the man that would make me take a good hard look at my life. Where I am. Who I am. WHAT I am. As I stood there, caring more about the non-action going on in front of me, not at all pondering my position in life and where I was living and raising my children, the very man that would make me rethink it all had just entered my life.

There he was a beacon of "seriously girl, question the shit outta yoself". I have to face the facts, I live in a town where this could happen. Picture with me if you will. 5'10, beer belly, NASCAR jacket wearing (and let me pause here to say that it wasn't JUST a NASCAR jacket, it was a LEATHER NASCAR jacket, this man committed to HIS driver, dammit) dude. And while I pondered the serious commitment he made to that jacket, it was then that I looked at his head. A black cowboy hat sat atop, a cowboy hat with actual animal teeth making up the band that wrapped around it. And stuck in this teeth band were... tooth picks. And I mean if he had 1 he had 30 tooth picks stuck in that hat band and hanging out of his mouth was, yup, a toothpick. I just know when he got done ringing up his Bud Light and beef jerky he was going to walk out and step up into a truck with a "Git R Done" sticker in the back window. Or perhaps even the window mural of the wolf and I'd even venture to say he had false testicles dangling from his trailer hitch.

It is now that I ask you, my dear readers, how can I consider myself any kind of a decent human being knowing that I'm raising my kid probably just mere blocks from the likes of that?

I should be wholly ashamed of myself.