A smoke cloud of burnt rubber hovered in aisle 8 as I accelerated past the frozen food. Much like Fred Flintstone, my stone aged feet were a blur as I weaved around old ladies and elbowed past soup stacking employees. My cart swayed on two wheels as I navigated corners.

 We sprinted past the bakery without so much as a sideways glance (a first). We dodged the line in the pharmacy (without pausing for a look, listen and laugh). We crash landed just outside the bathroom door and quickly found our place at the end of a long meandering line.

I remained cool as a cucumber as I did the baby juggle in line. I kept my calm demeanor as I pacified my whiney 3 year old. I breathed deeply while I waited for ladies finishing their snail paced business. I sang softly to my two little ones as I listened to women cackle and gossip in their stalls. I averted my eyes when I saw ladies picking their teeth at the sink. I didn't complain about the missing toilet seat covers. I didn't grimace over the sticky floor. I restrained my belly aching over the two last squares of toilet paper. I was patient as I elevated my three year old's buns over a sticky toilet seat. I smiled as I maintained my balance crouching in a football squat in front of yet another public toilet, baby draped over my lap. But, I was not prepared for what would come next.

"Can't go, Maybe try later."

Submitted by Mammatalk (view blog)