Je ne suis pas chic

I’ve never been cool, and every time I try to be it just ends in disaster.

Yesterday I decided to leave the suburbs and head to the big city for a little shopping and a visit to the museum with my daughter. I left the house feeling quite confident that we were both lookin’ fine in some new clothes from Target. “We’ll blend in nicely with the East Side crowd,” I thought to myself as I drove to the Whole Foods market for a good ass raping.

I pulled up in my filthy 8 year old Saab and parked amongst the shiny new Range Rovers and Volvo wagons. My daughter cried and blew raspberries through most of the store because A: she didn’t want to ride in the carriage, and B: I refused to pay $7.99 for 1/4 lb of organic jellybeans. A woman in the cheese department asked if we needed help. I mumbled something even I didn’t understand and ran away. One bag of groceries and $85.00 later, we moved on to the Children’s Museum for round two of “Go home hillbilly!”

Upon our arrival, the East Side mommies were assembled in the Water Room looking totally composed and effortlessly stylish. They were casually speaking French to each other and to their children. I felt tres stupide as we have enough trouble finishing a sentence without using profanity of some sort around our house. They had natty designer bags for all the mom essentials. I shoved everything in the bulging pockets of my fleece. Their children were well behaved and managed to keep the sleeves of their hand-embroidered, satin-lined sweaters dry. My daughter plunged both arms deep into the water tank and came out drenched to the shoulders. She even soaked her sneakers after tossing a sopping bean bag into the tank and splashing everyone including herself.

Including the mommies.

I have to say that the real coupe de grace came when she shat her panties right there at the fish tanks. This promptly ended the day and we went limping back to the suburbs in our old car and our beat Target outfits, literally soaking wet and smelling of shit.

I’m not even going to mention how she opened the door to the ladies room just as I was pulling my pants back up, exposing me, my fat ass, and my Target underpants to everyone. I’ll spare you the details on that one…

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2 comments

  1. Next time, let her have the jellybeans on the condition that she has to eat all of them before you hit the checkout…that way you can conveniently forget that they ever existed (shove the bag amongst the bread loaves-everyone at Whole Foods will be oblivious to your additional post-consumer waste as they search for the reusable grocery bags). Not that I would know ANYTHING about that…..

  2. You seem pretty cool to me. But then again I shop at WalMart, what do I know? I’m glad you’re not a Volvo driving East Side mamma. And there’s not wrong with not being to get through a sentence without some profanity.

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