Today's unplanned trip has led us to a place of beauty. And Alcohol. Hello Total Wine.
Like an art student in a museum, I oooh and ahhh at all the pretty things on display. The Husband just shakes his head and tries walking far enough ahead of me to make people wonder if I was actually with him and the kid in the cart who is looking confused as to why her Mama keeps saying, "Look at this one!"
We actually entered the store just to get a bottle (or five) of a new favorite the Mother-in-Law told me about called Chocovine, which is a purely divine combination of chocolate and cabernet. Of course, I feel like I need a camera crew following me for a new episode of a new show called "Parenting Without a Filter," but we stay and wander some more anyway and i take pictures of pretty vodka bottles since we already lost the Best Parents of the Year Award by walking IN the door with Buttercup to begin with.
Most parents would go to the zoo. Or the mall. Or the library. We? Drool over tequila we can't afford while Buttercup plays my Nintendo Dsi in the shopping cart. And yes, to answer your question, I would consider writing a parenting book if the money was right. This trip cements my expert status.
I can't help but feel a surge of pride. She picked the one I liked. So I snap a photo and tell her I love her.
I'm examining this bottle of tequila when The Husband disappears a few aisles away and returns with bottles of mead. I tell him I better get at least a glass because the batches his parents had made were ready for drinking after I found out I was pregnant with Buttercup.
"Well, you aren't pregnant now."
This is true. I search for straws.
My straw search is brought to a screeching halt when I hear my little almost-three-year-old's next statement, because really, I wasn't feeling trashy enough already on our little family alcohol excursion.
She screams it.
Heads turn. Mouths twitch. Fingers point. People snicker.
The Husband stops in his tracks. I can't breathe. Then I can't stop laughing, so I walk away while attempting to regain my composure as The Husband calmly explains to Buttercup that in fact, no, she is not pregnant and not allowed to date until she is 46.
I return and suggest we try the zoo next time. Or pay a sitter to spare us some dignity when we go on our next booze run.