Imagine the Irony

I drag myself to an eight o'clock pm step class at the YMCA. I feel great afterwards, all blissed out on cardio, and decide that i should go to the grocery store without the kids before going home. I know that i have to get some bulky items, like cat litter, tons of toilet paper, economy packs of diapers, and the 40 lb bag of dog food, and it is always a little trying to fit all of that into the cart with Rollie in there, and to lift the shit with Matilda in the Baby Bjorn on my chest. (Have you ever tried to lift anything that weighs forty pounds without clutching it to your chest, crushing your child? It requires using only your arms. Not easy.) I get out of the car at Publix, put Todd's "mellowmix" on the IPod, and nod at the security guard in the cart vestibule. (I have no idea if that is what it is called, but i can't think of another word to accurately describe that "not-quite-inside-the-store" room where they keep grocery carts.)

I proceed to get my list of about ten very large items, totally peaceful and relaxed, enjoying the music and my time sans children. I reach up to look at a dog toy, thinking that I would love to get Quint one, but i know that I will end up pulling it out of his butt when he shreds it. I turn to put it back on the shelf and inadvertently knock over a display of about 20 boxes of flea and tick preventative, bringing much staring and unwanted attention to myself, all to the soundtrack of John Lennon's "Imagine."