|I'm just the WORSTEST!|
Yes. I was in a craft store. Buying things. To make a Halloween costume. Yes. You read that right.
It's like I don't even know who I am anymore!
I was strolling right along, looking for female employees to offer free birth control to (yes, it was THAT craft store; everything about this story is messed up, ok, Judgey McJudgerson!!) and searching for felt-by-the-sheet, which is nowhere near felt-by-the-yard, when L.E. yelled. She erupted in a way that was far more embarrassing than the time she yelled, "I want my daddy! You're not my mom!" in Target.
From the strapped-in confines of the shopping cart, she shouted, "You're the worstest mom ever!!!"
I swear it echoed so loudly that the stoners lingering near the spray paint cans could hear it.
The walls of the scrapbooking aisles rattled.
Racks of decoupage supplies and bric-a-brac quivered.
I reacted as calmly as one who may or not recently spent a day in the hospital for chest pains could. I counted my breaths, asked the blue-vested woman nearest me where I could find replacement glue gun cartridges. I forgot to hand her a packet of Ortho-TriCyclen.
I realized there are far too many glue gun sticks – they're called sticks! – that should exist and made my way to the checkout line.
L.E. was uncontrollable at this point. She was screaming that I was horrible because I wouldn't take her down the toy aisle. "You're so mean! You never get me anything!!!"
Never mind that this is the same child who got BOTH Elsa and Anna dolls at Disney World where "no" was not uttered from an adult in five days.
Never mind that she just received her latest toy from fulfilling her chore chart.
What mattered to her was that I pushed her right past the supposed "toy" aisle and didn't get her anything. That is what made me the worstest mom ever.
We went to the register and I paid the same amount for the supplies to make an orca costume as I would have to buy the really nice one from Wishcraft. The checkout lady – who was of advanced maternal age so I didn't need to give her an IUD – asked L.E. what was wrong. She sniffed sadly and said, "My mom didn't get me a toy and I was being so good." The lady looked at me like I really was the worstest mom ever. I swiped my debit card as my blood boiled. I muttered a "thanks" and shuffled out of the store.
L.E. was still sniffling. She told me that I hurt her feelings when I don't buy her things. And that I'm mean. I did the mature thing and told her she was mean, too. Then I hugged her.
Since I need to finish hot-glueing an orca costume (yes, you read that right) I need to know what age is the right age to sit L.E. in front of the news for the deadbeat parent stories? Because the moms who left their kids in the motel on I-35 to go clubbing all night got nothing on me for not buying a DIY 3-D Mummy puzzle.