My sweet baby M toddled over to me this morning. She placed her hand on my knee as I was drinking my morning coffee and very sweetly looked up into my eyes.
"Mama," she pleaded. "I don't want to go on our daily three mile jog. I would like to stay at home in the air-conditioning, watch a movie and eat leftover spaghetti for our second breakfast."
I'm just kidding. She did no such thing. She is sixteen months old and we are working on "mamma" and "daddy," let alone full sentences.
This was, however, what we did in lieu of our jog.
We had started the movie "Wristcutters: A Love Story" last night. Unimpressed with the suicides and the fact it was an indie movie, Chris was unwilling to suspend his disbelief for the remainder of the show.
With a whopping plate of spaghetti on my lap, I sat down to watch the clever little movie about an "alternate universe" to where suicides went when they died. It was hot, dusty and reminded me a lot of Barstow, California. It was a place where they went to carry out their eternities, covered in dust, scarred and unable to smile.
As I watched, I realized that later today I needed to visit our local "alternate universe," a.k.a. "Super Walmart" because I was out of my value size bottle of ibuprofen, and these headaches lately have been kicking my ass.
I try to avoid this universe with all of my might, but sometimes it is necessary... like the other evening at 9:30 when I realized that I was out of coffee and baby formula.
We were on our way home from a fiftieth wedding anniversary dinner, so I had been wearing heels for about three hours. By 9:30, I was limping and my mood was such that I very well could do some sweet-ass jujitsu moves on the first unfortunate sloth I encountered (undoubtedly, pushing a cart aimlessly while simutaneously beating a child) on my way to the coffee aisle.
We made our way with purpose, unlike 90% of the other patrons, towards the "Enter" door. The "Enter" door at which we had to wait for the apparently illiterate individuals exiting to continue through.
Finding one's item in Walmart is only part of the battle, as you may well know. When one finds the aisle that the desired item resides in, not only does one have to physically get to their item, but one needs to retrieve that item from the shelf . Upon finding the aisle, we noticed that the entire city appeared to be making a last minute run to buy coffee.
Although it was a struggle to do so, we found our items and made our way to the express checkout line, which is a misnomer in this alternative universe where it feels as if you are wading through knee deep water and everything takes ten times as long.
Thirty minutes later, Chris and I carried on our favorite conversation, entitled "Why Thoroughly Jacked Up Things Are the Way That They Are." Among our favorite topics in this conversation are: government-run agencies, Walmart, and, most recently, Suntrust Bank.
The conclusion my husband came to is that we need to love people a little more and instead of performing that upper-cut on that elderly woman who was effectively blocking the coffee I wanted from all sides (kidding), I should have reminded myself that I love her. Have I told you lately that my husband is a much better person than I?
I just don't do alternate universes very well, as they cause me too much stress and subsequent gnashing of teeth. Instead of experiencing them in real life, I would much rather watch them on television, where they are not directly affecting me.
I can sit and observe the actions and reactions of others without the repercussion of me ultimately having to take a Xanax.
"Wristcutters" wasn't for everybody. But I enjoyed it, as did my little baby "M" who thanked me with a sloppy kiss, for not taking her on the big, bad jog this morning.
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