If Ebenezer Scrooge were nine months pregnant, he'd probably write a a blog post just like this one. So before I even begin, please forgive me my rant. I'm not sure what it is about not being able to see one's toes, but there seems to be a direct correlation between that and one's mood.
Christmas shopping while this pregnant is a bad idea. A very bad idea. I highly recommend that all pregnant ladies rely heavily on the Amazon Gods to play Santa this year. Yet, logical thinking is not always the pregnant person's strong suit. Although I knew ahead of time that venturing to the mall was probably the worst idea ever in the history of ideas, I did it anyway.
And so, while fighting the crowds at Barnes and Nobles yesterday morning, I was visited by the Three Ghosts of Christmas Shopping Annoyances.
First, I was visited by the ghost of Christmas Shopping Future. I was standing there minding my own business, browsing through some overpriced flash cards guaranteed to make my daughter a genius, when a sweet old lady shuffled beside me and coughed in my face. I'm sorry the poor woman is sick, but there was no attempt to turn her head or cover her mouth whatsoever. All I got was a mixture of sweet breath and spit particles directly to the side of my face. My unborn child's weakened immune system will no doubt appreciate the Depression Era germs that are now coursing through my body, but it's common courtesy to not cough on strangers. To add insult to injury, I feel bad even calling this woman out because someday I will be old, shuffling through the store to buy presents for great grandchildren who don't appreciate me, coughing on young people just to get someone to notice I exist.
Next, there was the man standing behind me in line who was convinced that if he stood as close to me as possible and sighed loudly that everything would move faster. We'll call him the Ghost of Christmas Shopping Present. I understand his annoyance, and desire to speed up time. Standing in long lines sucks. But there's something to be said for personal space, and having a strange bearded man in a leather jacket pressed up against my pregnant backside just gives me the heebie jeebies. Trust me, buddy, you don't want to be that close. First, there's a strong possibility that I could start leaking amniotic fluid at any moment. Secondly, an old lady just coughed on me, and I could be carrying a deadly communicable disease. My husband doesn't even want to stand that closely to me these days.
Finally, free from the wheezers and close-standers, I waddled over piles of ice and snow to get back to my car, which was parked a good half-mile away form the store's entrance. And what to my wondrous eyes should appear? A truck with a snowplow attached to the front of it had backed into the spot next to mine, leaving the front of the plow to block in my car. I thank you, Ghost of Christmas Shopping Past, for plowing the roads when I needed you two days ago. I guess your service to mankind means you are justified in parking like a complete d-bag. Thankfully, the car parked on the other side of me was leaving too. So with a few wiggles of the wheel and thrusts in reverse, careful to not hit any of the cars prowling desperately for their own parking spots, I was able to slip past the truck.
Bah Humbug, ladies and gentleman. Bah Humbug! Today, I stay home and eat chocolate.
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