Good morning! Holy monkey-meat with a side of slaw! Friends, forgive me for what I am about to do, but this is too “good” not to share. (And remember, sharing is caring, so I care. I REALLY do!)
Yesterday, the offspring and I made a quick trip to Hobby Lobby. (Yes, no good EVER comes from a story that begins with that sentence.) As we wandered the aisles looking for giant foam letters, I rounded an end-cap…and froze! There, blocking the kiddie-crafts aisle was Captain Grabendo.
“Who the heck is Captain Grabendo,” you ask? (See, now what I’m about to tell you is YOUR fault for asking, thus relieving me of all personal responsibility for any gross-out factor you’re about to experience.) ( Like the way I did that? Yeah, me too.)
Captain Grabendo is a 6 foot-something, early-40’s-looking, hulk of a man who had his arm up to his elbow…down the back of his wifey-poo’s pants! DOWN…THE BACK…OF…HER…P-A-N-T-S!!!!! On the kiddie-crafts aisle! In Hobby-frickin’-Lobby!
*pauses for dramatic effect*
Now, don’t get me wrong. I think it’s sweet to see couples still openly in love. It’s cute to see two people who obviously have been around each other for quite a few years act like teenagers now-and-again. But people, there are limits to the PDA when the health of kids (and myself) is concerned.
I say health was concerned because what the dude did next caused me to darn near go into some kind of gross-out seizure. He removed his now butt-crack-contaminated hand…and TOUCHED THINGS ON THE SHELF…of the KIDDIE-CRAFTS AISLE!
Perhaps I should have said something, but what is the appropriate response? Does Miss Manners cover this situation in any of her books of etiquette? How do you interrupt a kind of seriously personal moment between loving spouses to inform the guy his gnarly stink-hand is probably gonna give a kid pink eye or worse? (What’s worse than pink eye? Brown eye!) (I am SO sorry I just “went there,” but it was too good to pass up. Feel free to leave nasty, chiding comments.)
I stood there a moment, locked in place by with my efforts to simultaneously control my gag reflex and the urge to lose my shiz-nit, watching him continue to touch item after item. Finally I snapped out of it…and ran! Or hobbled quickly. However you want to phrase it, I Zombie-shuffled as fast as my cane would let me.
I’m so sorry, but I really don’t have a point today except the serious need for the comfort of friends in this time of trauma. I’m just not sure if I’ll ever be able to return to that store (or any other, since I don’t know where the Captain shops on a regular basis) without rubber gloves and a container of bleach wipes.
As my daughter is so fond of saying these days, there are some things you just can’t un-see!
May your Labor Day weekend be filled with lots of love and affection (just not the kind that causes pink eye), and a lack of things you can’t scrub out of your brain!