Another day, another uncomfortable encounter with a stranger.
The place: Dollar Tree checkout line.
The offending stranger: A crotchety old lady. (Who else?)
We stood in line, our little family of 4, waiting for the cashier to scan our goods. Mike handled the transaction, while I stood beside him with the girls. They sat facing away from the rest of the line, not making a peep. Another successful outing with twins.
All of a sudden, I hear a loud, sarcastic “GOOD LUCK!”. I pretend not to notice, until the words are echoed once more. “GOOD LUCK”.
I hesitantly turn around to confront the source of this unwanted commentary on my family. It’s a short, gray-haired woman nodding towards the stroller. “Good luck!”.
I laughed it off and turned back around. Partly because I didn’t want to talk to the lady, and partly because I felt like I had food in my teeth and didn’t want anyone to see.
She didn’t take the hint. “Boys or girls?”, she asked.
I’m not sure why she didn’t consider the possibility of there being one of each, but whatever. That’s a crotchety old lady for ya. “Girls”, I told her.
The words that came out of her mouth next made me want to spit whatever was stuck in my teeth right into her wrinkly old face.
“Ohhh… That’s even worse. Girls are bitches.”
Say whaaaaat? Did she just refer to my sweet little babies as BITCHES? Really?
Again, I laughed it off and turned around. I didn’t want to talk to her before, and I sure as hell didn’t want to after that.
I stood there, disgusted and uncomfortable, praying for the damn cashier to speed it up.
The lady kept yammering on, while I tried my best to tune her out. She said that she hoped I wasn’t offended and I stupidly told her I wasn’t. But really, what would be the point of saying that I was? We’d be out of the store in a matter of minutes, never to see the ignorant hag again.
And eventually we were. Back outside, and onto the next store… Cautiously on the lookout for the next nut-job hellbent on giving us their unsolicited opinions of our