I need boots. And jeans. And a new jacket.
Well come to think of it I need a whole new wardrobe.
So after a strong coffee spiked with a dash of delusional and a whole cup of crazy,
I take two children clothes shopping.
I have a plan.
Stuff the kids with food.
This will keep them busy while I try on things and hopefully keep their mouths busy enough that I won’t here any begging or whinging. Our shopping food of choice is a Macca's hash brown. Yes once again I am one of those mothers that feed their children McDonalds. I have tried many other food items in the past, but the hash brown wins hands down. It is time consuming to pick apart the potato goodness.
This will give me twenty minutes.
We approach Target.
Somewhere between the coffee and Maccas I have forgotten about the Target Toy Sale.
I usually avoid the toy area, but these huge Everest style, piles of toys are unavoidable.
I bribe Master O. If he is good during the whole shopping expedition he can have a toy.
He willingy agrees. Crisis adverted.
I needn’t have worried.
Target was so full of toys I couldn’t find anything resembling clothes or boots.
I venture to another store. An appealing window display draws me into a store I have never been into. Bad idea. Better the devil you know. The way too young and too fashionable sales assistants see me coming. Well actually not me but my hummer style pram and two kids holding hash browns and roll their eyes. It’s not worth the battle.
Store 3. It doesn’t look like my kind of store. But hey I’m desperate.
The desire to buy something, anything, is taking over my rational thought.
The music is so loud that no one will notice that my children have now finished their hash browns and the whinging has begun.
Despite first appearances, I find boots AND jeans.
Today WILL be my lucky day.
I proceed to the change rooms.
Well change ROOM is probably not the best way to describe the short narrow corridor with miniscule spaces divided by curtains that are naturally 2 inches short of even covering the space properly.
There is not a door or lock in sight.
My pram doesn’t fit, so Miss A is released from her seat and hearing the thumping music the two of them turn the corridor into their own dance club.
At least it will keep them (and any onlookers) entertained.
No matter which way I pull the curtain, part of the change space is exposed to the corridor with its ugly fluorescent lights and mirrors that were surely bought at sideshow alley.
I don’t care.
I am determined.
A woman on a mission. I have the time. I have the money.
I WILL BUY SOMETHING.
I do the usual skinny jean dance. I am sure my Mummy tummy is being exposed to the rest of the store but dignity has been replaced by desperation. I get them on, of course they are way too tight and have created a muffin top, the boots are passable. Finally for the shirt.
I hear someone yell.
I am not exaggerating. It must have been a yell because I heard it over the music.
Where are the kids? I grab a top to hold against me in the hope no one will see my overexposed torso. The kids come running over to me.
They have hijacked someone’s change room.
The poor woman.
She had probably left her kids at home to shop in peace and had now been rudely interrupted
by two greasy faced club dancers.
I blame the store. That’s what you get for having change rooms without locks, well without doors for that matter.
Oblivious to the drama they have just caused Master O says
“Mummy you look like your going horse riding”.
Is it the boots, my dishevelled hair or my way too tight pants that give him that idea?
It’s the final straw.
I load the kids into the pram and escape the humiliation quicker than you can say hi ho silver.
We will leave the shops without anything we had planned to buy.
No boots, no jeans. No toys for the hijackers.
Once home, I get online. In less than 10 minutes, I have browsed, found an outfit, purchased it and its on its way to our house.
The one with doors and locks and no thumping music.
Just a couple of crazy kids, a mirror that gives me hope and a few lessons learnt the hard way.