Happy Holiday’s everyone!
Labor day, Yom Kippur, Halloween, Dia de los Muertos, Veterans day, Thanksgiving and Black Friday have all passed and we are now in the home stretch. I hope everyone has enjoyed themselves, their loved ones and the fact that calories don’t count between September 5th – February 1st (Dr. Oz said so, don’t Google it). I also hope everyone was successful in avoiding holiday creepers, those random strangers that try to ruin your holiday joy with their mere presence and make you wish The Purge was real.
Food for Thought
I, too, have enjoyed the multitude of festivities so far, especially Thanksgiving. What a marvelous day, if you look past it’s origin story of theft, rape, pillaging and intentional genocide by pretentious, self-entitled European immigrants. Eating food, drinking drinks, sharing laughs and counting down to Christmas (which we all say we’re not doing, but secretly are); that’s the American way.
However, Thanksgiving doesn’t come without misgivings.
May the Odds Be Ever in Your Favor
I hate, Hate, HATE shopping for Thanksgiving supplies. With a burning passion deep down in my soul. Going grocery shopping is already laborious, but the weeks leading up to Turkey Day make it soul crushing. It’s like a mix of Lord of the Flies, Hunger Games and Real Housewives of Atlanta. Only the strong survive, and the weak leave down trodden and empty handed.
Parking Lot Pimping
You can not claim spots from across the lot! I don’t care if you “saw it first”, you did not get here first and standing outside my window does NOT intimidate me. It’s times like this I’m glad I’m 6 feet tall and drive a Nissan Versa (yes, I fit). I surprise people when I unfold from my car and stand, wearing my best “try me if you want to” face. That’s right, say ‘whatever’ and walk away, little man.
Gauntlet of Aisles
Everyone is pushing, shoving, standing over, and bending under people. With no regards to anyone else’s personal space. I can count, on half a hand, the number of times I hear “please” “thank you” “excuse me” or “sorry”. C’mon people, we all watched Barney. That giant, creepy, purple dinosaur taught us all the same manners. I feel people are intentionally rude due to Christmastide being just around the corner. They’re trying to cram in as much dick-wad-ness as possible, before they’re scrutinized for it during the rest of the year.
Road to Perdition
Lastly, the checkout stands, or as I like to call them, Satan’s Gates. I truly feel the line to Hell closely resembles the checkout stands at Walmart. 500 people in line, three lanes open, one of them is for 15 items or less, all but two of the self-checkout’s are broken and they only take cash. (WHO HAS CASH?!) It’s a shit show and a cluster fuck all-in-one. A cluster shit, if you will.
Keep Your Paws to Yourself
Over the years I’ve learned to circumvent most of the mess. For instance, I categorize my shopping list by store layout. I go shopping earlier in the day, often when the store opens. I, also, purchase my supplies throughout the month, instead of all in one day. This year I took Gideon with me. I’ve shopped with him quite often and it’s never as arduous as people say shopping with kids is. Maybe it’s because he can’t move or ask for anything, yet. I would take him with me even if he could talk and reach. I work 40+ hours a week and relish every moment of mommy/son time I get.
However, I was not prepared for people TOUCHING MY SON. Yes, creepers of all variety’s consistently invaded my and Gideon’s space. Putting their dirty, influenza infested fingers on his head, hands and feet, or getting close to him and breathing their invisible airborne pathogens in his face. I’m usually carrying him in his baby carrier, so If I see it coming I can block it. Unfortunately, there have been a few sneak attacks I wasn’t ready for.
Creeper Man: “Oh, look at his hands! Those are some big mitts”
Me: “Uhh, thanks? *pulling my son’s hands out of Creeper Man’s grasp*
Creeper Man: “He’s going to be a giant!”
Me: *Uncomfortable laugh as I walk away*
I’m baffled in these moments and don’t know what to say. It makes no sense to me how people don’t understand it’s disrespectful and weird to touch someone, anyone, without permission and it’s doubly so when it’s a child that can’t give consent. I always tell myself that next time, I’m cussing the person out and/or “putting them paws on em”, as Lil’ Scrappy so famously said. Then it happens again, and I’m at a loss (not lost, *pet peeve*) for words.
Fashionable Black Grandma: “What a handsome little man” *shaking my son’s left foot*
Me: “Thank you” *slowly backing up, effectively pulling Gideon’s foot from her grasp*
FBG: “He’s going to be a heart breaker” *following in step trying to grab his other foot*
Me: “Have a good day” *Accompanied by uncomfortable laugh as I walk away*
Damn it! I thought of the perfect response, after the fact. Does that ever happen to you?
Queen Bey, Cardi B & Adele-y
We received our first glimpse of the ever precocious Blue Ivy Carter over a month after she graced this earth. We didn’t see the twins, Sir and Rumi, for over a year. The first picture of Adele’s son, Angelo, was an unofficial paparazzi photo taken at 8 months and we have yet to see Kulture Kiari Cephus. Though I am no celebrity, as a mom I now fully understand why celebrities keep a low profile when it comes to their children. Here you have these beautiful, helpless little people that fill your whole world and turn your thug heart to mush. You want to protect them from every conceivable threat you can think of: heartbreak, ear infections, hiccups, bad grades. This includes well meaning, poor judgment having space invaders.
New Mom, Who’s This?
I’m a person that doesn’t like to make a scene or cause a ruckus. Well, I’m going to have to get over that. It’s my responsibility to protect my son, and if that means getting loud, cursing someone out and being uncomfortable with everyone in the store looking at me like I’m the “angry black woman” then so be it. No more Mrs. Passive-Aggressive Mom. Next time I go shopping, this holiday season or anytime during the year, I’ll have my paws out, claws extended. As they say (they being The Read), if you stay ready you don’t have to get ready.