Dental Hygiene

Shopping with the kids is always an adventure. Sometimes its a good adventure, sometimes its more like trying to crawl out of a quicksand pit while someone is standing on my head. Recently I took Unruly to Wal-Mart to pick up a few things. She's always making observations about things and people, commenting on them constantly. Ever notice how children have no filter between brain and mouth? What they think is what they say, political correctness be damned. Embarrassment generally follows us from the moment we walk in the door to the moment we load back into the car.

On this latest shopping adventure Unruly spent the trip sitting in the cart. She was in one of her run-around-like-a-maniac phases and I wasn't in the mood to deal with it calmly, so, up into the cart and on with the belt to snug her in. I wonder how long I'm going to be able to do that? I don't think she's going to fit in there for much longer.

The last stop of this particular shopping trip ended in the feminine hygiene aisle, cause, you know, it was getting close to that time of month and I didn't want to get caught unprepared. What a wall of products! Shelf after shelf of colorful packaging and drawings portraying what lie within the packaging. Drawings of pads and pretty flowers, cartoonish women on a box of sports Tampax, likenessess of tampons on the front of the box, their handy dandy little strings neatly coiled near the bright white cotton stopper. Unruly gazes at the wall of boxes and bags, I'm sure devouring every last bit of information her little mind can suck up as I search for my preferred brand.

I catch her looking at a box of Tampax, the box with the detailed picture of a tampon freed from its little inserter thingie, bared for the world to see. Her eyes focus on that tampon and its long string and she leans forward to get a better look.

A wave of comprehension flashes across her innocent, cherubic countenance.

"Mom! Mom! I need some FLOSS!" No, she never uses her inside voice, not when she wants to be heard NOW.

Cheeks redden as I look around quickly, hoping no one heard her and made the connection.

"Why do you think you need some floss?" I inquire, trying to keep from laughing. My insides are starting to hurt.

"Well, because I don't have any floss. And there's a box of floss RIGHT THERE!" Louder this time, with fingers desperately in need of a manicure reaching toward the box of tampons. The one with the long, long white string emblazoned on the front.

I turn the cart around as quickly as I can, lowering my eyes to avoid contact with anyone who may have heard as I grab the nearest box of product, toss it into the cart and hightail it towards a safer section. Of course I manage to ram the edge of my cart into a little old gray-haired lady checking out the Depends.

"Oh. That's not floss honey," I said, heading towards the cat food section. Something far safer and less embarassing.

"Looks like floss to me. What is it?"

"Ummm...grown up lady stuff. Not floss."

"Oh. Can I have it any way?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because."