"I'm so sorry," I replied, and I meant it. I was returning from a lovely party that featured the holy girly trinity of jewelry, friends and margaritas. I couldn't be farther from this guy's pain. No guilt on my part, though. I had earned the party, the day, the friends.
On the check-out line, there was a bit of confusion. The man ahead of me was just buying mushrooms, and the checkout lady thought they were with my purchases. "Those are mine," the guy grumped. "Although SHE should be buying them for me."
Whoa. I glimpsed at the people behind me on the line. They had noticed the guy's attitude, too. Maybe he had learned his flirting skills at an anger management class. He must have heard my eyes roll, because he continued.
"I raised three kids by myself. Somebody should buy ME something for Mothers' Day!" He groused as he grabbed his mushrooms. "And I'm the best cook around, too!" I suddenly realized there was a viable market for gift-wrapped chocolate Ex-Lax.
"Enjoy your mushrooms," I called after him as he left. "Alone!" I muttered to the people behind me. We giggled nervously.
I wondered about his kids. Were they cold, bland, raised in a cave, like his mushrooms? Was that considered successful? He was certainly cranky, but maybe he was happier being unhappy. I was going to ask him if he was also paid 35% less than the average dad, but he was gone already.
Happy Mother's Day to all, whether you're a mother, a mom, a mutha, or a mumdaddy. Find your space, make it yours, invite us over once in a while. It's all good, no?
