Spare Me Your Manufactured Interest, Or Can Your Curiosity

Have you ever been daydreaming, and looked up from signing your best-selling book in the window of a major bookstore, or placed your hand over your heart to sing the national anthem after accepting your gold medal for Olympic equestrian jumping, only to discover that you are someplace you would rather not be? Like tenth in line at the Taco Bell drive-thru, with those concrete curbs so you cannot escape? Or at the top of the high diving board at the pool in the local park?

That happened to me on Sunday. Only I was in line with all my stuff on the conveyor at The Devil's Playground, at the checker who bags items in a wonky manner, and is a bit of a weirdo. Let the record show that I was buying candy for the Easter holiday. My boys don't do eggs any more, but they DO eat candy.

Let the record show that I must get equal treats for those boys. So I had two of everything. And I had a stack (SMALL STACK) of bunny PEEPS, because I like them, even if the boys don't, and they will be disappearing from the shelves after this weekend, to be gone for an entire year! Sure, maybe there might be one of those obscene giant single bunny white PEEPS left on the clearance aisle Monday. Or those odd mystery flavored PEEPS that I am not about to bite the head off of. So pardon me if I felt the need to throw four packs of bunny PEEPS into my cart, and then onto the conveyor with my boys' Easter basket treats. Those four packs will last me until May. Yeah. Sure they will.

So what does this Devil's Handmaiden do but start jawing at me about my purchases!

"Oh! Easter candy is really expensive!" Like she hasn't noticed that for the past four weeks, with all of Hillmomba buying candy and eating it and coming back for more before it runs out.

"Uh. Yeah."

"Wow! How many are you buying for?"

"A bunch." No way was I going to tell her it was only for two. I guess other people don't love their children as much as I do.


"I would just put it all in a bucket and say, 'Come pick out what you want.' I wouldn't try to hand it out."

"Uh. Yeah."

Give me a freakin' break! Is it your business what I buy? I don't think there's a quota on candy. No rationing that I've heard about. Should I just say, 'I'm buying it for myself. Nobody else. I LOVE CANDY!' Because maybe that's what the weirdo was getting at. Seriously. Does she harass every customer about their items? Does she say, "Oh, incontinence pads. Do you pee yourself?" Or maybe, "Air freshener? I bet your poop really stinks!" Or perhaps, "A sympathy card, huh? Did somebody die?"

I do not need The Devil's Handmaidens to be fake friendly to me. Now I must get back to signing my best-seller, and waving to the crowd as my gold medal glints in the photographer's flash.