Real Canadian Superstore
Today, after work, I went to Superstore to stock up on baking supplies. It's become a tradition to bake every Christmas. The past few Christmases have been mainly pie-centered. This Christmas, it's time to get a little more daring. I'm planning to make chocolate torte with chocolate ganache, 7-grain bread, a New York Cheesecake, wheat germ cookies, dog biscuits for Lady, and possibly tiramisu. I've already made two rounds of raspberry shortbread squares, which turned out great. There never seems to be any shortage of hungry mouths to bake for.
Anyway, as I got to the milk section at Superstore, a two year old started crying. Temper-tantruming full-out roooooarrrrrrrrrrring. I HATE the sound of kids crying. I think females are programmed to really hate that sound and I'm definitely not an exception. I can feel my breath grow short, my ears try to grow inward, and my uterus permanently shrivel up and die. Ha! The dad hoisted the kid on his shoulders, and they followed me from the milk section to the egg section, and all through the produce section. Roooooooooarrrrrring.
Finally, I ducked into the farthest empty checkout isle with a sigh of relief. With my full cart of $109.62 worth of baking items, surely nobody would dare line up behind me, especially with half a dozen other empty checkout isles and an almost-closing store. But lo and behold, who is hot on my trail? Roaring kid, dad and mom. I glare at my cart as I unload, and feel them watching me, gauging my level of pissed-offness. Then I snap. I look up, wearing my biggest smile and say "Awwwwwww. Is it past his bedtime? He's so CUTE!" Much to my amazement, the kid actually IS super cute, and looks just like his parents. They are all perhaps First Nations... maybe Inuit?
"Haha. No." Dad shakes his head. "He just wants a cookie."
"Aww! Cookie? You want a cookie?" I say to the kid. He looks at me and stops crying. Then he tries to grab my cart, and starts bawling again because he's in his mom's arms and can't reach it.
But now he's only sobbing part time. And the parents, obviously more relaxed now that they have seen evidence their offspring isn't annoying me or the cashier, smile at each other.
"He hasn't learned to hold his breath yet," dad quips. "When I was his age, I learned to hold my breath. Then I got everything I wanted!"
I laugh, say bye to the kid, who has been reduced to a silent wide-eyed statue with a few tears rolling down his face, and walk out in the rain.
Anyway, as I got to the milk section at Superstore, a two year old started crying. Temper-tantruming full-out roooooarrrrrrrrrrring. I HATE the sound of kids crying. I think females are programmed to really hate that sound and I'm definitely not an exception. I can feel my breath grow short, my ears try to grow inward, and my uterus permanently shrivel up and die. Ha! The dad hoisted the kid on his shoulders, and they followed me from the milk section to the egg section, and all through the produce section. Roooooooooarrrrrring.
Finally, I ducked into the farthest empty checkout isle with a sigh of relief. With my full cart of $109.62 worth of baking items, surely nobody would dare line up behind me, especially with half a dozen other empty checkout isles and an almost-closing store. But lo and behold, who is hot on my trail? Roaring kid, dad and mom. I glare at my cart as I unload, and feel them watching me, gauging my level of pissed-offness. Then I snap. I look up, wearing my biggest smile and say "Awwwwwww. Is it past his bedtime? He's so CUTE!" Much to my amazement, the kid actually IS super cute, and looks just like his parents. They are all perhaps First Nations... maybe Inuit?
"Haha. No." Dad shakes his head. "He just wants a cookie."
"Aww! Cookie? You want a cookie?" I say to the kid. He looks at me and stops crying. Then he tries to grab my cart, and starts bawling again because he's in his mom's arms and can't reach it.
But now he's only sobbing part time. And the parents, obviously more relaxed now that they have seen evidence their offspring isn't annoying me or the cashier, smile at each other.
"He hasn't learned to hold his breath yet," dad quips. "When I was his age, I learned to hold my breath. Then I got everything I wanted!"
I laugh, say bye to the kid, who has been reduced to a silent wide-eyed statue with a few tears rolling down his face, and walk out in the rain.
posted by s at 10:23 PM
1 Comments:
I think wailing children should be removed from stores as quickly as possible. However, I usually find a way to stop the crying before actually having to leave. Maybe some people's kids are harder to deal with though.
Maybe I'll do some Christmas baking soon too. Or not... still trying to lose that baby fat!
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