10.09.2014

What my nightmares are made of...

I am at Walmart ready to checkout.

All the lines are packed so I go for the self-checkout. 

Nothing is ringing up at the prices they should be. The weight of the bananas will not register - the self-checkout lady's voice is lecturing me on the proper technique needed to weigh bananas. The footsie pajamas I desperately need for Perry have somehow morphed into a size 7/8 and I ring them up knowing full well that I will have to spend 20 minutes of my life standing in the dreaded costumer service line to return them. The milk costs $27.50. The bread is smashed beyond recognition. The shampoo has opened and is oozing over all the items in my cart. And the bananas - those dang bananas that my husband demands being in the house at all times - just won't trigger the scale; therefore, leaving me helplessly not able to purchase them.

Just then I look at my cart - Fielding magically appears in a baby seat and screams for the entire store to hear, "I pooped my pants!"

I wake up in a cold sweat. My stomach feels queasy. My head is spinning. I am frantically searching the bed for poopy underwear. 

Aghhh! It was just a dream. 

It was just a dream. 

Deep breaths. 

It was just a dream.

3 comments:

Britt said...

This is not a dream. This is really how it goes every time I go to a store.

Kara Bowman said...

Now that you're a mom, it's not the monsters that scare you but the real things in life do.

HowellAZ said...

Oh man...mom nightmares. The worst.