A quick trip through Taco Bell, where the scar-faced man with the prison tattoos always flirts with me (he likes Biggrrrl, and would probably carjack me if he could fit through the drive-thru window), and we were set to chow down in the parking lot of Best Buy. This is where the music lives, and is the
Last stop for the day's crazy train was SuperTarget. Normally, I don't get to go to Target, with having to keep hours at Clementine's, but today was special. I got distracted in the sniff-the-candles aisle, the examine-this-cheap-but-cute stationery aisle, and was just getting to the ponder-fifty-kinds-of-toothpaste aisle, when Joe, who had complained of wanting to go home, and then of having a stomach ache (yet he declined a trip to the restroom...thrice) blew beefy taco bits all over the floor in front of the pharmacy (former home of the 'family toilet'). It was all I could do not to bust out laughing. Or crying. Maybe a little of both, I think. It took four attempts to get paper towels out of the pharmacy dude, plus I had to beg them to open the door to the former 'family toilet' to wash the mess off everyone's Crocs (God Bless Crocs. Can I get an Amen?), and when, finally, someone came with the stinky sawdust/barf absorber, we'd been ten minutes into getting it cleaned up ourselves. Those dudes are quick...like sloths... sleeping sloths.
I'm just hoping it's a stomach bug and not food poisoning, because if I have to endure this with four more kids (and myself) today, I will be a singularly unhappy, and slightly green about the gills, momma. Herr Becher is busily trying to rustle up dinner. I don't have the heart to tell him I'm just not that into it.