It was one of those times that I wanted to let Olivia run wild in the store simply because they weren’t willing to work with me and they needed to be punished.
Short story is because I don’t have the receipt their hands are tied (ooooh, don’t tempt me), but if I’d like to give customer service a call blah blah blah you’rescrewedcakes.
Then because we were already at the mall, I threw caution to the wind and took all the girls into Limited, Also. Because I’m stupid and my attitude wasn’t bad enough. Amy decided she needed a bra and Olivia decided she needed to dance with the mannequins and run full tilt out of the store with garments clutched in her sticky little hands. (Setting off alarms is fun!!) For the first time in my life I actually snapped at a retail worker. In my defense she could see that Olivia was kicking the crap out of my shins as I tightened the strap on her stroller, she’d been present the entire time I chased her around the store saying things like, “Why in the freakin’ world would you put the candy there?!” and “Who thought this was a good idea?!” and “How long can it take to try on a bra for God’s sake?!” So as I searched in vain for my debit card while fending off Olivia’s most aggressive outburst ever and suffered immense guilt for not offering Amelia money or a car or a new Webby*kinz for simply staying by my side and not asking for anything, and fielding questions about stage 2 breast development from Amy, and making sure that that 20 pound useless paperweight of a wireless speaker I’d been lugging around the store didn’t get knocked off the stroller despite Olivia’s most vigorous attempts to do so, (deep breath) the worker behind the counter requested my telephone number, and then, as the chaos rose around my, threatening to swallow my soul, she proceeded to ask me 3 more questions. “Can we just… ring up the sale?” I snapped.
You know, before today I’d always been secretly afraid that if I did not give them my daughters’ birthdays that I wouldn’t be able to complete the purchase. Today I found out that that is simply not true. I can tell them to stuff it and they’ll still run my card through and wish me a good day. It’s almost liberating.
Of course, I’d gotten no more than 3 steps out of the store when I felt compelled to turn around and apologize.
I suck at being a bitch.