Life Lessons from Costco

So i’m minding my own business, shopping at Costco this morning. My 2 year old is being good, and i’ve mostly filled my cart with things i need. … mostly.  I successfully navigated through everything weighing if it would be Weight Watchers appropriate or not.

I get to the soups, and i decide i can get the chicken tortilla soup.

because it’s awesome.

I grab the package, and turn to put it in the cart and hear a


and instantly feel a wet leg.

The package of soup behind the one i grabbed tipped forward and hit the cement floor, causing the entire plastic container to explode.

fuckfuckfuck !! – i said this as loud as i could in my head. My daughter must’ve heard me, though, because she instantly starts screaming. What is she screaming? Something caring and sad like, “Oh no, mommy, you ok?”


“It’s your fault! It’s your fault!”

this escalates the situation from just one four letter word to roughly three.

nothing is on her

I immediately feel like Fat Amy after the burrito bullet.

Chicken tortilla soup has exploded out of the plastic container and up my entire leg. Also, as a bonus, all over my feet because i’m wearing, of course, flip flops.

It looks like baby barf.

The screaming crying 2 year old isn’t helping my case.

I look up and i’m being avoided like canker sores have just broken out all over my face.

Not one single damn offer of assistance.

Thank goodness for e.coli and salmonella because i had to use the meat department paper towels to clean up what i could.

Of COURSE i had no wipes with me. Not one single wipe.

I squish over to tell the nearest samples senior citizen there was a clean up in the soup dept and she looks at me like i’ve just stepped off a space ship…. from the future.

She looks down at her microwave as if to change the subject, but doesn’t even manage a complete sentence.


I squish away flinging any and all curse words i can conjure towards the mess on the floor. .. and possibly a few at Dolly Madison wielding Tang to anyone who passes by.

As i sit here at home, still in my chicken tortilla soup eu de parfume, i realize i’m sick and tired of the public. When i see someone in need of some assistance outside of my house, i offer help. Unless it’s something that i completely cannot do like change a tire, i help.

Why am i constantly ignored? Am i that terrifying ? I know i’m tall, and i know i’m the width of a small Hyundai, but i still find myself from time to time in need of some sort of acknowledgement. Even if you don’t want to help me, at least give me a glance of ‘oh shit, that sucks lady’.

So take it from me. Even if the most scowly-faced frumpy chubby monster of a mom is fumbling with some type of reality that has just shat upon her head, show her that you see her and you’re sorry.

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