A normal day around here would probably drive even the sanest soul to the loony bin. So, while the antics on today’s trip to the Jeep dealer for an oil change and emissions test were pretty normal for me, I knew from the sidelong glances and shocked faces that most of the others forced to spend two hours of their day with me and my littles surely felt like they were having an outer body experience. That, or that I have zero control over the two un-caged monsters that were accompanying me.
Anyhoo, I thought I was being quite crafty by running through Krispy Kreme to pic up a dozen hot ones on the way in. Not only were they to serve as breakfast for the littles and me, but they were further intended to act as a sweet bribe to encourage the mechanic to finish up my car lickety split. The waiting room was so packed that I was forced to share a chair with Cookie and his chocolate glazed sprinkle confection (if you’d ever seen him eat a donut you’d be feeling really sorry for the state of my jeans), so the three of us settled into our two chairs and, all messes aside, both stayed quite as a church mouse as they dined on their donuts. And I was feeling quite pleased with my forethought. But as soon as the last bite was consumed, they were back to their usual antics. At this point they were just being a tad loud and a bit silly. But boys should be boys, right?!?!
Well, thirty minutes into our wait, John asked the lady sitting next to us what she reading. When she disclosed the title of her book was “His Sexy Bad Habit” I liked to died of embarrassment. Oh. Em. Ge. (Who in their right mind would bring that book out in public to actually be observed reading it??? And who would actually tell a five year old who can’t read the real title?) Seeing as that opened a floodgate of questions (“what’s a sexy bad habit?”, “who’s that guy” (pointing to the scantily clad man on the cover), and “bad habit. bad habit. bad rabbit.” from Cookie), I was surely beet red as I promptly vacated our seats, muttering apologies, and moved us to the “Kid Corner.” I usually try to avoid these gnarly spaces at all costs, but seeing as things were heading south at a rapid rate, I figured we should remove ourselves from the general population. So, for the next ninety minutes, my littles scrubbed themselves all on the dirty floor, man-handled the decrepit toys, had a jumping contest off of the chairs, pressed their faces onto the glass divider separating us from the rest of the living world, and just generally bounced off the walls of our little room.
At the end of the day, I don’t think it was the donut bribe that got us out of there. Rather, I believe it was the sheer horror of the site manager when he peeked in to see if we were “doing okay.”