Thursday, June 11, 2009
I was at Wal-mart a while back, watching a woman interacting with her 6 children. It was late. Well, late for little kids to be out (read 10-ish). The oldest one with her was a boy, about Thing 2's age (10) with two pierced ears and a nicely colored Mo-hawk. Not a fo-hawk, but a MO-HAWK.
It was hot.
There was a child, about 3, passed out underneath the shopping cart-- you know, where you put your dog food? There were 2 babies, about 18months sitting/standing in the cart screaming their heads off and two more kids running around the cart, screaming, like they were high on crack. Or sugar.
It was a whirlwind of chaos. The lady sort of lost it, and started screaming at her kids. Right there in the Wal-mart.
Let's be honest, I have wanted to do that to my own insurgents many, many times. I found myself having varying levels of sympathy for her... until she turned around and I noticed her white hot attire and what she had placed on the checkout counter.
As she turned around, I couldn't help but notice the giant double F honkers she was trying to stuff back into her super tighty-nighty that was being used as a shirt. Her sweet skin-tight PLEATHER pants looked smokin'... what with her enormous giant double F honkers casting a beautiful shadow... sans bra.
Now, before you send me hate mail for being so rude about someones unruly children or those giant breasts... realize that I have giant enormous E honkers. You special order those bras. I know. I have 4. Children and bras.
As I scanned the check-out counter, while listening to the cacophony created by her crazed, sugar rushed children, and her shrill voice listing off how her kids where driving her insane, and she had no idea how she got here... I saw her purchases...
I know how she got there.