My second thought was… Am I in the right store?
My third thought was… I wonder if this woman invented a popular coyote caller or something. Her voice did, after all, remind me of a dying rabbit.
My last thought was… Halleluiah! Did they finally lower prices? But then I realized how assumptive and judgmental that was of me, so I went back to thinking I was likely more correct with the dying rabbit theory. Judging by the still immaculate products on display in front of us, there was no doubt I certainly still had to be the poorest person in the store.
Anyway, Noah looked at me with wide eyes, but said nothing because he actually was aware that he needed to be aware of other people being around, particularly this woman who would probably haven no trouble ripping him a new hole with the way she was her own child.
We shuffled past and entered the store. “Dad, did you hear her?! She said the f-word AND the a-word to her kid.”
“Yep, I’m guessing they aren’t from around here. That’s probably the way they all talk to each other where they’re from. Are you glad your mom and I don’t talk to you like that?”
His eyes got wider as he envisioned me telling him to git the fuck over to me. “YES. I’m very glad.” He said as he slowly yet exaggeratingly nodded.
It seemed that every time we went around another corner this woman was there. With her child. And every. Single. Time… We either heard the word shit, fuck, damn, ass, or a combination of some or all of them, always directed at this poor kid. And each time, after we were once again out of sight and earshot of them, Noah would giggle, or whisper, or repeat that same look of sheer surprise.
As we came around the final aisle, this mom was there, loading up a big salad at the salad bar. The first words we overheard were, “fuck no, you’ll git some bites of mine is all.” Exhausted of trying to be okay with my son learning and relearning an entirely new hillbilly way of using expletives, we hurried away toward the checkout lines with my half-year’s-salary worth of groceries.
As Noah began handing me the items from the cart, and I loaded the conveyer belt with bananas, and cheese, and multiple flavors of hummus, he suddenly stopped with arm outstretched. “That mom is definitely not my type, Dad!” he said.
I laughed because… How could I not. And then I thought about how thankful I am that his mom is definitely not that type. Although I would have many much more awesome things to blog about if she was…
Dan Pearce, Single Dad Laughing
PS. Git my book! Don’t make me curse at you.
PPS. I’m serioius. There is cursing in the book. Gloriously done, if I do say so myself.