I was a mite grumpy yesterday so dh (dear husband on most days) took me shoe shopping this evening. So here we are zooming all over the store in a scooter and I have two of my three kids on my lap. I do not weight 200 pounds. The guy SAID it was fully charged and new and raring and ready to go.
My kids all three together don't weigh over 75 pounds. I'm well under 200, but well over 100...let's just leave it at that.
THE THING BROKE AT THE FARTHEST POINT AWAY FROM THE SCOOTER DOCK. So here I am stuck. Dh rode another to me and we switched. So he takes two kids to let them pick out a sticker book and the oldest stays with me to help. So she's on my lap and we're racing around a corner and I'm enjoying this exhilerating ride and so is she because she's yelling, "Faster Mommy! Faster!"
I'm pushing it to the max at this point, and then it happened.
I spotted the perfect pair of shoes.
I veered right...down that aisle. The scootermagig apparently doesn't turn on a dime. It apparently doesn't turn on a spot the size of a compact car because we careened into the shoes. The scooter kept going because the handlebar got stuck beneath the shelving...then I hear this monstrous creaking and the sound of metal and then a series of rapid fire thudding and clanking and clinking. We finally come to a stop beneath a thundershower of shoes. My daughter runs for cover and I turn around to survey the aftermath.
Shoes....everywhere. Shelving....everywhere. Those little metal prongs that were holding the fifty or so pair of house slippers.....everywhere.
So my daughter runs to her dad because she's mortified with embarrassment because now there are people....everywhere. And I'm stuck in the mess only I can't escape the mortification because my dh(in this instance Dratted Husband) has my walker in his cart across the store where my daughter fled as he passed by waiting for her. Of course he couldn't come help me because all three kids suddenly had to use the restroom. Stickers must have a diuretic capability to them or something.
Here I am picking up the shoes with the reacher thingy which took a solid 20 minutes. At least I didn't race another scooter shopper down the aisle like the other day when I discovered my mother and father in fact DID know I used to drag race my Iroc z and my Firebird behind the high school. But hey, when someone pulls up beside you in the suppository aisle..and says in a low voice, "Wanna race?" and revvs their scooter....battery. Do those things even have engines? I mean, WHO could resist?
Oh Lord God in Heaven, PLEASE give my children more sense than I had as a teen. Now I know what I put my parents through. Lord help me, and grant them blessings beyond measure for letting me live past my teen years.