Here’s a funny little story for you. (I am calling this a distraction post because I’m a little crazy today.)

For the past year or so my mom has been obsessed with grandchildren. Napkin and I got married and her potential-grandmother-clock started ticking. When we bought the house, she couldn’t think of a single reason why we shouldn’t start a family and so, in an effort to convince us we needed a baby, she started leaving baby clothes in the closets when she would visit. I would find baby slippers in the guest bedroom, onesies in the band room, that sort of thing.
Then, she graduated to mailed packages to her “granddaughter.” She has sent cards and children’s’ books signed with her name and, “I’m waiting!”

This has always been a funny joke. You would THINK that I see it coming at this point– but for some reason I am always embarrassed.

Then Christmas happened. Napkin and I met up with my side of the family the day after Christmas… and my mom wasted no time giving us our first, most important gift. You’re thinking, “Hahaha. It’s a baby thing,” and I was right there with you. But no. This time it was LINGERIE. Here’s the thing. Lingerie is not my thing. It’s presumptuous and a little weird for me.  But it’s A LOT OF WEIRD to get it in front of my entire family on Christmas morning.  I’m too embarrassed to show you what the thing looks like, but here’s a sneak peek:

I looked at my mom:

She looked at me back:

And Napkin basically imploded right there in the living room.

You can imagine that everything came to a pretty screeching halt for a second… but surprisingly we all moved on pretty quickly. Christmas was relatively tame after that.

Cut to a week ago, I decided to start organizing everything to get ready for the move. I found the lingerie in my room and realized it still had the tag on it! From Marshall’s! I decided that my mom wouldn’t mind my taking the fire engine red catastrophe back to the store and trade it in for, like, pillows for my apartment or something.

So I shoved the thing in my bag, walked into Marshall’s and surveyed the store to see who was behind the counter. Luckily it was an older woman at the return’s desk so I knew I could just trade it in without a lot of eye contact and be on my way. I breathed a sign of relief and walked up to the counter…

ONLY TO HAVE A TEENAGE BOY PIPE UP AND SAY HE COULD HELP ME ON REGISTER TWO!

I died a little. There was no way out. The older woman had walked away from the counter– I was a deer in headlights. So I walked up and cleared my throat.

“I’d like to return this, please.”

The boy looked down at the lacy mess I put on the counter. Then he died a little bit. We were both dying.

“Oh. Um. Is. Um. Anything wrong with it…?”

“Nope. Just not trying to get pregnant yet, hahahaha. Ahem. Oh God.”

I SAID THAT OUT LOUD, YOU GUYS.

With that, the teenage boy went totally quiet, returned my fire engine red flag of embarrassment and handed me a gift card. I didn’t even say thank you. He didn’t tell me to have a good day. We were completely silent.

You can imagine that I then left the store in a panic and decided to never shop there again. (I used my gift card on a blanket at the other Marshall’s across town.)

So, mom? Thank you for that. I know that you are laughing and planning your next Operation-Baby-2014-Attack. Red is not my color, okay? I love you.