Grocery Store Meltdown In 3...2...

It was bound to happen at some point.  When you continually rock the little compact cart, odds are...you'll encounter a bagger for whom you're just too hot to handle.  Today was that day.  Today was the wrong day for it to be that day.  MS is kicking my tail.  My legs are weak, my eye is fuzzy, my energy forgot to show up, and my neck is sore.  I think that's all.  Stupid invisible symptoms. 

I was so proud of my little cart today.  I mean come on, it was a thing of beauty.  See?

I had plenty more room under that case of water.  I was being courteous to others.

In any case, I was nearly to the check out when I realized that my husband had recently expressed a desire for squirt cheese.  Well, he didn't call it that.  I think he said something like, "I'd like the cheese that I can put on crackers."  To which I said, with repulsed face, "squirt cheese?"  My grandmother once said, "you eat with your eyes".  I'm someone who does.  I can't eat squirt jelly, because jelly should be in glass jars.  The sight of that squirt peanut butter and jelly they make turns my stomach.  Squirt cheese?  It's just wrong.

Like any good wife, I threw physical discomfort aside and went back for his squirt cheese.  When I returned with my rocked out little cart, there was only one lane available to me.  So I began the unload...

As I wrote my required life story on the top of my bank check, I was forced to listen to the tiny bagger man as he tried his best to impress the 20yr younger cashier girl with a story of his weight lifting escapades.  Honey, please.  Men can't be cougars.  Much like squirt PB&J, it's just wrong.

I took my receipt and went to leave, but six of my bags were still on the counter...not in my cart.  The next order had begun.  The cashier, with annoyed face, turned to me and asked if I would like another cart.  Temper temper...

Me:  "No, thank you.  What I'd like is for him to help me by putting my things in the cart I have."
Cashier, turning to 105lb Mighty Weightlifting Bagger Man: "ugh...can you please help this lady?"

This LADY?  Hold on.  I know she didn't just...

I explained, chewing on side of face, that I was sorry to have the little cart and all?  But I have ms and this is the cart I need to use.  And that I know you can't tell, but I'm havin' a REAL bad ms day.  Next time, I will wear a sign (complete with hand gestures across chest).  But right now, I really just need these bags (complete with double handed point) to go in this cart (complete with double handed point to cart).

Bagger Man: "I don't know what to do with all of it"
Me...more annoyed: "You pick them up from here (double handed point to counter)...and put them in here (double handed point to cart)."

Bagger Man holding bags in the air, looking catatonic...

There goes the temper!  Internal nuclear siren sounding...WOOOOP...commence meltdown in 3...WOOOOOP...2...WOOOOOP...1...

Me:  "GIVE ME THE ... BAGS!"  (the pause was the near swear word that almost slipped out, but thankfully, did not)

There are two areas I need to be more diligent with as far as maintaining my Christ-like attitude.  Hockey and grocery shopping.

Let the record show that today's blow up was all due to squirt cheese, people.  Because had I not gone back for it, I'd have had "my" bagger.  The man who not only can reassemble my items back into my little cart, but who admires my mad skills. 

You'd think my husband would be thankful, but no.  I told him of my negative little cart experience and his reaction was...well, he didn't really say anything.  Barrett Jackson auto auction was on.  In my frustration, I opened the pantry, grabbed the can of squirt cheese, brandished it and said, "know what?  All that happened because of THIS!"

His response?  A look of confusion, followed by..."what the heck is that?"

omg...

Squirt cheese.  Not of God.