Saturday Night Shopping

I was out of butter. The sugar ran out. I had frosting to make yet. I had to go shopping. I don't like shopping any more. It takes too much effort to dress up, get little girls looking like they have a mother who actually sees what they look like, hair combed, faces washed and dressed in an outfit that matches...you know how it is.
  But, I was out of butter. I had to have that frosting for my man's lunch to be complete. I found the perfect solution. Tell the kids to be quiet while Dad is sleeping and I'll be right back, I mean, I live 5 blocks from Sam's Club.
I almost went as is then thought, well, the least I can do is throw on a pair of jeans and look like I tried. It's saturday night, why would people be all dressed up? I should fit in. I walk into Sam's and think, "What did I miss? Who didn't send me the text, memo, email, card, notification, something to warn me that on Saturday night, women wear high heals and have their hair done, their best sassy outfit on with their neatly groomed guy's arm to hang on?"
  I put on my best smile and think, "I hope they just look at my beautiful smile and don't notice the rest of me." Oh horrors, that means they will look at my face. Absolutely no make-up. Possibly a smear of two of who knows what. I mean, I was baking and cleaning today and never looked in the mirror. Besides, you have to understand that being pregnant and no make-up means that what you see is a pale, washed out face with black eyes. That's just how it is. Esp in the winter with no sun to add some form of color. Then there was my hair. Oh do we have to go there? Once it was wound in a tight knot at the back of my head. When I plopped down on the floor to rest I let it fly. No more details.
  I decided to hurry. I was going to hurry anyway right? I needed to get back to the girls and get supper. But I kept seeing it, those high healed shoes. Ok, that would have been the least I could do! I could have worn my black healed shoes. Perhaps I could have looked taller than my scarce 5'2" and possibly more sophisticated. Black heals always improve jeans, don't they? I wanted to think so right then. But, no, I had shoes on. I push my cart faster.
Then I see a lady with a big belly, like mine will eventually be. I can't help but think, no one even gives me the excuse of being fat and pregnant. I can't even make it hang out and be warm too. Maybe I should sew a sign on my back that artfully explains why I may look like I do.
  I nervously check down each isle hoping I don't meet anyone I know. They were likely in their best outfits too. Shopping in heals with a dashing man. I grab a pizza, zoom by all the delightful smelling samples that they naturally bring out at dinner time and race to the check out. After I stand there for several minutes I realize that there are three ladies trying to figure out a crisis two customers ahead of me. I glance around and see a line of only one. My cart takes off in that direction. Upon arrival I see that there may be only one but her cart is so high it barely balances all the contents. By the time the cashier fills it, she's desperately searching for a place to put the bananas so they don't fall off. I sigh and watch the other line and realize I could have been through it a full 5 minutes faster. But the lady was sweet so I relinquished my frantic desire to get out of the high healed only party in my flat brown, fraying shoes.
  As soon as I get to the van I forget how bad it was and think, wow, I did that fast enough to go to Wal-mart to get some tape. I mean, surely they aren't that dressed up there! The girls used up all my tape and when that happens, I know I shall be lamenting my need for tape and can't live without it and will look even worse next time because it will be an emergency.
 I still glance around nervously as I enter, just knowing I'll meet a friend going to Sam's Club in her heals. She will arch a delicate eyebrow and wonder what kind of day I'd been having or if I always look that bad. I will smile and act like I have it all together as my hair wildly falls in my eyes.
 Miraculously, I made it out of there without seeing that high healed friend. She must have avoided me because what are the odds of NOT seeing her in my predicament? The check out lady was very obviously pregnant too. I walked out thinking, if only they knew. If they ONLY knew they would think, wow, she looks great for being pregnant. I mean, she looks perfectly lovely and we wouldn't expect any more of her outfit in her condition. She's really amazing to be out alone shopping with no one to carry those heavy bags (tape is heavy you know). 
  So, I raced home wondering, why would people go shopping on Saturday night looking like they were going to a banquet? Seriously. I was home all day cleaning and baking, why weren't they? Don't they know it's Saturday? I'm just exalting that I actually have my house all mostly cleaned up, some baking done and even the church cleaned. I don't have time or energy to dress up.
  But now I know. Saturday night at Sam's Club is wear-your-heals-and-best-outfit-night. I think the only reason they let me shop is they were trying to break a record that day or something. Otherwise I wouldn't have qualified to get through the door.
  Sorry, you look like a country girl and nope, that belly isn't big enough to blame it on pregnancy. Go home and come back on a look-like-you-just-got-out-of-bed-day. 
  I survived. My pizza is baking and I shall go see what damage is being done to my perfectly cleaned house.