If you spend any time reading this blog you know that I am not a fan of the holiday season and that given the choice I avoid the mall. The last thing I want to do is fight the crowds. The situation was further exacerbated by having to take my children with me.
Walking through the mall with kids is like walking blindfolded through a minefield. There is no way to get through it without getting hit with multiple cries of “Daddy! I want that!” No matter how many toys they have there is always that one that they must have, and then the other, and the other and the other….
So before we left I briefed them on the goals of this mission and how it was to be conducted. But if you ask any general they’ll tell you that no matter how well you train your troops there are always going to be surprises that pop up in the field. And sure enough we hit one.
We were upstairs near the food court. The goal was to buy a pretzel for the kids to split. A simple, yet effective way to keep a three-year-old occupied, not me, my daughter. 😉 And then the incident happened.
Let me set the scene. Music is playing. It is not the normal holiday crap. No, it is Tootsee Roll by The 69 Boyz. If you recall last week I blogged about Dancing With My Children. Well, when I heard the music I decided to try and make the kids laugh and started screwing around. Picture big goofy dad screwing around and two children laughing hysterically.
There we are bouncing around when all of a sudden I see this woman heading for my daughter. She is talking on a cellphone and is most definitely not looking at her feet and I just know that she is going to run my daughter down.
Presto-Change-O! Dancing Daddy is now doing his impression of the Secret Service. I take three quick steps forward and bend over to grab my daughter and pull her out of the way. Success! Ok, maybe not so much.
I have managed to pull my daughter out of the path of the oblivious shopper, but in the process I have placed myself directly in the path of one of the makeup girls from Macy’s. Because I bent over to grab my princess she winds up falling on top of my back and then as I straighten up she gets flung off of me.
With a loud oomph she lands on the floor next to me, plaid skirt splayed covering everything but what it is supposed to cover. Time stands still and all you can hear is my son telling us how cool that was and can we do it again.
I apologize and ask her if she is ok. For a moment she gives me the female look of death. I am tempted to explain to her that growing up with 1,987,093 sisters, a mother and having been married for 909 years has given me immunity but think better of it.
Fortunately she has a sense of humor. When I tell her that I was trying out for Dancing With the Stars she smiles and assures me that she is ok. As she starts to walk away with as much dignity as she can muster my son says far too loudly, “dad, her underwear was torn right up her butt.”
I did what I could to try and shush him. I told him that it wasn’t polite to speak about other people’s underwear, but he wasn’t going for it. “Dad, I hope that she did a good job of wiping her tushie or her mom is going to be really upset.”
Oy, as if the woman wasn’t already embarrassed, or maybe that was me. Either way it wasn’t good.
Now, do you see why I hate the holiday season.
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