Mortification Memoirs

I know I am suppose to be blogging about my new obsession in life, but some unforeseen extended extensive expensive exuberant exhaling exhaustive circumstances have occurred. Since this is a PG blog I must warn you, if you are below the age of 16 or a male...read no farther (or is it further, I always get those confused). Close this window down now for Pete's Sake. I am seriously tellin you...abort...abort...abort!

Seriously, if you are a man (and I know of no XY chromosomal peeps in the house) I beseech you dear brethren to turn from your wicked ways now...Go forth and mow a lawn or change your oil or watch Sports Center or use a wrench to level something or grunt & scratch or pick your nose...BUT TURN AWAY NOW...depart from me. Danger lurks ahead. You have been warned.

If you are below the age of 16 protect your innocence. Like so totally go talk on the phone or BTW go text your BFF ASAP or paint your nails with glitter paint or go shopping at the mall and buy a hat which will most certainly be a mistake as almost all hats are. Like Fo' Shiz you have so been like totally warned.

Now if you are married or a mom or have gone to prom in a strapless dress (this is the only exception I will make for males), please read on and drink in my mortification and relate. And snicker and gasp, but please relate. It will make me feel better and save me thousands in therapy. So I can buy a boat and have friends.

Have you noticed there is always something you forget at the grocery store? Okay, probably not you; but me I always forget something. And something big, like eggs or a Twerp and then we get out to the car and I am all like, "What is missing?" and then I see an empty car seat and I say,"Wait, it is coming to me....wait, wait...Oh yes...MILK!" And then Eldest Twerp rolls her eyes, goes back in the store and picks up a kid or two with my DNA. I kid. I kid. Sorta.

But I always seem to forget something. And something of necessity -- not like Chunky Monkey Ice Cream but this week I forgot... (Men, I am giving you one last chance to turn from you evil ways) ... feminine hygiene products. Yes, I Country Girl had to run back to the store today with three Twerps to buy Tampons. And let me just say, I deplore having to buy these. After several decades of partaking in this ritual, I still get embarrassed. I try to hide them under the Fruit Loops and pork roast. I figure no one will notice.

But today, this was my lone purchase and I swear by all that is good and lovely in the world, the only cashier working was 18-year-old Chris. I felt like I should just throw in some KY Jelly and Preparation H for the fun of it. And to top it all off Baby Twerp was crying at the top of his lungs drawing even more attention our way. And I was wrestling with him and he was smashed up against my chest, right next to the Tampons, in which I thought he might be able to hide...a little. I blushed as I checked out. At least Chris did not have to call for a price check, ya know what I am sayin? Can a girlfriend relate?

Well let's take a moment to interrupt this post to tell you another little dirty secret of mine. I hesitate to even type this confession, but you will tell no one right? Good. I trust you.

I wear a gel bra.

And it has changed my life.

And you if you do not have one but secretly desire one, drop everything NOW.

And drive to Victoria Secret.

And buy 3...in all colors.

And stop and get a doughnut on the way home.

And it is a $49 boob job. For trailer trash like me.

And I confess this to you, but do not feel guilty.

Please don't judge me.

Amen.

So, I had on one of my gel bras and still wrestled with Baby Twerp as he groped and clawed at my chest and I watched Chris hold my box of Tampons and say,"Do you like want a bag or something for these things?"

"Yes, please that would be nice."

"Well, we only have these see through ones."

Avoiding eye contact at all costs, I said, "I guess that is what I will take."

Then, he looked straight at my chest and said, "You're like leakin or somethin."

I looked down in complete mortification as I realized my gel bra had sprung a leak. I guess Baby Twerp had punctured it and the gel had began to ooze from my breast.

I did what any sane, mature, reasonable woman would do in this situation, I lied...

I picked up two of my Twerps and my bag of feminine hygiene products and said, "Wow, how embarrassing, lactating again...we have to get home to the baby. AHHH!" And then I ran like Flo Jo from the store as my daughter yelled...

"What baby? We don't have a baby at home!"

I ran to my car, locked the doors and held my breasts. Did I really just tell and 18-year-old that I was lactating as I bought Tampons to avoid the embarrassment of him thinking I had on a gel bra? Was this scenario any better? Oh Lord, I have to find a new grocery and a new bra and a new priest to confess to.

Oh please don't judge me. What would you have done?