On Monday, I went to the grocery store.
It was one of those perfect storms of horribleness, and when I started thinking up how I’d write this all down (because, let’s face it, if ANYTHING sort of terrifying happens, the silver lining is that you get to blog about it) I realized I needed to back things up to Saturday morning.
Saturday morning, Vio peed on the floor at Target. WHILE I was picking out new underwear for her, I might add. Not because of a sense of impending pee, of course, but because she’s been potty-trained for nearly a year now, and she’s pretty much outgrown the 2T/3T Dora and Princess underpants of yore. Matt was chasing Roo up and down the aisle, and I looked back at Vio to show her the choices. This child was in the throes of a (silent) pee-pee-dance, complete with leg-crossing and crotch-grabbing. And now we had pee on the floor, in a store. Nothing in my purse to wipe it up (it was seriously about two drops), and the Invisible Authority figures were surely zoning in. Matt ran Vio off to the bathroom while I paced around looking for an employee to wave down. No one!
So I ran.
Well, I abandoned the scene of the crime and ran up to pay for our stuff so Vio could put on some clean underwear. I juggled the bag and my purse and my wallet and the baby and got them out to the car where Matt was situating Vio. I dropped all my stuff on the floor, got Vio changed, and Matt went back in and wiped up The Evidence.
I really shouldn’t go places without my husband.
We have this routine where we usually do the week’s grocery shopping all together on Sunday mornings. You know, in the interest of me not going places ALONE, when bad things are sure to happen. With Father’s Day and all that, we switched things up. Matt dropped me off at Publix while he took the girls to the library and the park on Monday afternoon. He made sure I had my phone and that it was charged. Because I rarely have my phone, and when I do, it is mostly not charged.
Anyhoogle, it’s amazing how relaxing the grocery store can be when you’re there by yourself. (Well, unless your husband’s high school crush is there roaming the aisles again and you’re skirting behind the canned goods to avoid making totally polite conversation NOT THAT THIS EVER HAPPENED.) I took my time picking out produce and reading labels, snail’s-pacing my way up and down each aisle. Last stop was the fish counter, after which I pulled out my phone to let Matt know I was about to checkout, thus minimizing the time the meats had to spoil. I AM BRILLIANT, I thought.
I mean, I was brilliant, until I dialed his number, and instead of RIIINNNNGNNNGGG in my ear, I hear, “We’re sorry. This T-Mobile pre-paid phone does not have enough minutes to complete the call.”
Oh. Well. Hmm.
(The T-Mobile situation isn’t really that relevant to the story, but as a bit of an aside, it wasn’t that I’d used all my minutes. They expire after a year or whatever, and they were set to expire THAT DAY. THAT VERY DAY.)
But! Not that big a deal, right? Because surely he’ll realize I should have called by now and he’ll just come pick me up. And there’s probably a pay phone, if not. I think? Some places still have those. So I went to grab my wallet to see if I had change or if I’d need to get cash back, and …
No. There was no wallet in that purse. Because the wallet was still on the floor of the van where I dropped it on Saturday after the peeing incident.
Now I had no phone, no money, and I was in the middle of a grocery store. Which is like the worst place to have to wither away and die of abandonment, because there is food everywhere THAT I CANNOT PAY FOR.
I fumbled around with the phone, trying to remember the number to call to add minutes. Which of course I could not. So I poked around in the useless stupid thing and still found nothing. I like to imagine I looked like I was having a huge text fight with someone to all passersby. I finally texted the number to get my minute balance, which THANKFULLY white-knighted with the number for minute-adding.
Of course, now I was trying to refill my minutes with no credit card in front of me. I tapped into the Little Grey part of my brain until I found the snapshot of the number. Though I kept entering it in incorrectly from memory. SO I HAD TO WRITE IT DOWN ON A PIECE OF PAPER. Because that is 1. literally the only way I could get the number from my brain into the phone, and 2. the smartest thing you can ever do with a credit card number.
Finally, though, the number was in.
And then I hung up on the call. Because I hit END instead of #. Because I win at cell phones.
(Through all of this I never once considered just going to customer service and asking if I could use the phone. The whole “I don’t have my wallet AND my phone just ran out of minutes today!” thing seemed like such a likely story, you know?)
Finally got some minutes added, and the phone started ringing IMMEDIATELY.
It was Matt calling to (helpfully) let me know my wallet was in the van.
YA DON’T SAY.
Seriously. Never leaving the house by myself AGAIN.