We went to Costco yesterday lunchtime, for the free samples. I was after a giant hot dog, but the queue was too long, so we made a casual tour of the shop first and pretended to look really hard at frozen prawns, while actually visiting all of the sample stands in turn. And we are not the only ones who do this, so don’t even pretend that we are. I felt like we were the rocky survivors of a shipwreck (see last post), venturing out into public for the first time. So we split all the loot fifty-fifty, even the Dr Pepper. And the ice cream. And the chicken in hot wing sauce. And the hot dog, when we finally got there.
I got a few stares, and I suppose letting your not-even-two-year-old chug from a giant cup of Sprite with half a churro in his sugary fist would not make the cover of Good Parenting. But I was so tired I didn’t mind. ‘Oh, my dear’, I thought without resentment, when a woman made a comment about keeping Henry still in the lunch queue with an episode of ‘Sarah and Duck’, ‘you wouldn’t BELIEVE the week I’ve had’.
If I could have said it to her, I would have. And I suddenly thought that behind every mother shouting too loud at the supermarket, every toddler with a fistful of McDonald’s chips, every woman in a car who barges in at the traffic lights and glares like it was your fault, there might be a sad, tired girl who would just like to say to someone ‘oh, my dear. You wouldn’t BELIEVE the week I’ve had’.
And I thought I should probably cut that girl some slack.
Here’s to a weekend spread liberally with the benefit of the doubt.