Today the kids and I ran errands at Ikea and Wal-Mart and let me tell you … nothing ruins a shopping trip faster than a crappy cart.
Wait, back that up.
Nothing ruins a shopping trip faster than kids, but given that they accompany me everywhere I go the next-worst thing that ruins shopping trips is a crappy cart. And I had the pleasure of captaining two today (carts, not kids. Stay with me).
At Ikea, my cart-of-choice (or COC, if you like. I like) was a slyly misleading one. On the straightaway it handled like a dream: light and smooth to push, the kids and I were lapping grandmas in the parking lot on our way in. “Weeee! You’re driving fast, mom!” shouted Mace as the breeze caught his lazily-long summer hair. We three felt alive, and joyful, and in good spirits. What a great day! I thought.
And then.
And then I was forced to make a sharp right-turn through the main doors. And I turned right. And the cart dragged me left.
Directly into a group of over-eager Ikea shoppers.
“Whoops, sorry guys” I grunted while struggling to regain control of my moving deathtrap. Attempting to lighten the mood I added, “I think I’ve got one of those carts that’s like a drunk guy stumbling out of a bar, ya know? Ya know?!”.
They didn’t know. Nor had a sense of humour, either.
The rest of our Ikea trip was a comical farce of man versus machine, with machine winning handily at every corner. I stumbled around with both kids riding in the cart because I’d be damned if I ran over my own offspring with a maniacal metal-basket-on-wheels.
With Mace whining about wanting to walk and me shouting “I can’t control the cart! I can’t control it! Stay inside where it’s safe!” (at him, not others. Though now that I’ve written that … oh dear lord) we made a crazed-looking threesome heading back to the car an hour later.
At Wal-Mart we managed to snag another crap cart. This one cornered better than Ikea’s but had a tendency to jerk one side or another at random times, causing baby girl to get a few nasty “Heads-up!” run-ins with walls, aisles, and clothing racks. Mace, wisely I thought, chose to walk five paces behind.
By the end of the shopping trip Avery was covered in newly-formed bruises, Mace had perfected his I-don’t-know-them-omg-I-am-SO-embarrassed-by-my-mother-right-now look, and I needed a drink.
Shopping with kids. Even shittier with a crap COC.
Wait, back that up.
Nothing ruins a shopping trip faster than kids, but given that they accompany me everywhere I go the next-worst thing that ruins shopping trips is a crappy cart. And I had the pleasure of captaining two today (carts, not kids. Stay with me).
At Ikea, my cart-of-choice (or COC, if you like. I like) was a slyly misleading one. On the straightaway it handled like a dream: light and smooth to push, the kids and I were lapping grandmas in the parking lot on our way in. “Weeee! You’re driving fast, mom!” shouted Mace as the breeze caught his lazily-long summer hair. We three felt alive, and joyful, and in good spirits. What a great day! I thought.
And then.
And then I was forced to make a sharp right-turn through the main doors. And I turned right. And the cart dragged me left.
Directly into a group of over-eager Ikea shoppers.
“Whoops, sorry guys” I grunted while struggling to regain control of my moving deathtrap. Attempting to lighten the mood I added, “I think I’ve got one of those carts that’s like a drunk guy stumbling out of a bar, ya know? Ya know?!”.
They didn’t know. Nor had a sense of humour, either.
The rest of our Ikea trip was a comical farce of man versus machine, with machine winning handily at every corner. I stumbled around with both kids riding in the cart because I’d be damned if I ran over my own offspring with a maniacal metal-basket-on-wheels.
With Mace whining about wanting to walk and me shouting “I can’t control the cart! I can’t control it! Stay inside where it’s safe!” (at him, not others. Though now that I’ve written that … oh dear lord) we made a crazed-looking threesome heading back to the car an hour later.
At Wal-Mart we managed to snag another crap cart. This one cornered better than Ikea’s but had a tendency to jerk one side or another at random times, causing baby girl to get a few nasty “Heads-up!” run-ins with walls, aisles, and clothing racks. Mace, wisely I thought, chose to walk five paces behind.
By the end of the shopping trip Avery was covered in newly-formed bruises, Mace had perfected his I-don’t-know-them-omg-I-am-SO-embarrassed-by-my-mother-right-now look, and I needed a drink.
Shopping with kids. Even shittier with a crap COC.
It's probably a good thing that shopping with children is so unpleasant or else I would be broke! But then there is late-night online shopping... Damn it!!
ReplyDeleteMy favourite is getting a crappy cart at Costco! Those suckers are big and hard to maneuver on a good day!