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Talent, sheer talent baby

February 19, 2007

Large grocery store and yummy fast-food beckons us away from our city dwelling and we venture into the county for some shopping and dinner. We survive the grocery store although sweetie dearest does ask me “Hey honey, when are you going to shave me? Do we need anything special?” as we walk along looking for that English instant custard we like and some juiceboxes. I glare at him and hiss something about this not really being the place. (I have to practice shaving a man as I will soon have to do it next week as I start clinical experience in nursing school….nothing dirty you cheeky monkey). We have a delightful dinner. If you are unaware of what constitutes a delightful dinner out when you have children it simply means that children eat there meal, stay relatively seated and no one throws up on the table. We decide to do some discount designer shopping at my favorite type store, Filenes Basement. Sadly nothing really compares to the one in Boston but I lurve it anyway. We take turns wrangling the wee spawn as they race around the store, hiding under clothes racks, tackling one another and shrieking like banshees. It is difficult to actually shop when you  have both of them  and mostly impossible to not loose them to scary child molesters I fear lurk everywhere. We divide in order to conquer the ya-ya’s that have so completely overtaken them. We give up. They scream and run and scream but are not harming anything and the store is mostly deserted because it is Saturday night and most proper people are out on the town enjoying their childless existences. We get to check out and I choose to watch over devilish spawn while my dearest sweetie pays for our crap. They are insane. Giggling, laughing like freakish clowns, hopping and jumping up and down and throwing themselves on the ground. I force Chica-Poo into a chair and put Spawn in another. They sit there. They stay there more importantly as we wait to pay. I don’t even notice the vile noises they are making because I am just happy they are staying put and not racing around the clothing racks likeits the Kentucky Derby. The clerk closest to them says loudly, “WOW. Those are impressive. What talent.” And it is then I realize that I have ignored or been oblivious to the tandem arm farts they are performing on each other. It is like the call of loons to one another across a lake except that there is a lot of spitting involved and no loons only loony children. They are laughing and laughing. And the clerk continues to pseudo-goodheartedly compliment them on their apparent musical abilities while sideways glancing at me. I shrug and think to myself I am grateful to not be chasing them. We are ready to and Chica-Poo refuses to put on her coat and join us while we blow that popsicle stand. I say fine, stay here, that man seems amused by you and appears nice enough. You can live here with him. She yells for me to wait up and her brother Spawn gives her a holler to hurry because he loves her and she HAS to live with us! As we walk toward the escalator I see that clerk glare at me still mad at the thought I might abandon my evil ridiculous child behind and walk away leaving him to raise my wretchedly behaved arm-farting child.

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