Slap Those Spuds

There’s something I should write about, if only to get the weight of it off my shoulders. I’ve stopped and started this touchy topic (about a job interview gone wrong) a dozen times. Writing your own story shouldn’t be so hard, but it is. So I’m not writing it. Not right now anyway. Instead I’m going to share something easy and lighthearted that happened today. Because lighthearted I can do. So my shoulders will just have to be droop under the weight of “the interview story” for awhile longer…
In the mean time, today I went to Ikea with Avery and my dad. It was close to lunch, so we decided to brave the cafeteria. It’s delicious and the food is so inexpensive it’s practically free. We brought our meatballs laden plates to a table and sat down. Avery was fully engrossed in her mac & cheese until a couple walked past our table. The woman caught Avery’s attention (she caught mine too. She had to be in her sixties and she was wearing skin tight pleather pants). As her husband brushed past, Avery suddenly reached out and patted his bum (this was not the first time Avery has fondled a strange man’s bottom by the way). Thank god she didn’t grab his “meat balls!” He whipped his head around and looked…at me! LOL! “It was her, I swear!” I exclaimed pointing at the kid with the macaroni noodle stuck to her cheesy chin.
We made a hasty exit and my dad held Avery’s hand to guide her out of the restaurant. I followed. We were nearly there – the plush animals and plastic toy bins were mere steps away. We had nearly made it through a lunch in public relatively unscathed (the last time we ate there, Avery choked and it caused a scene. Another time she pushed over a chair. It was so loud I wanted to crawl into a nylon Ikea tent and hide. There was also the time she threw her entire lunch onto the floor and just for extra effect, dumped her drink all over the table). So all in all, this meal was a major success.  One slapped bootie? No biggie (the incident that is, not the bootie!). As we passed the last table, an older woman was just sitting down with her tray of meatballs and a mound mashed potatoes. Avery spotted the white starchy dome, looking like a freshly molded snow ball. Before I could stop her, she reached out her free hand, with an open palm and slapped those spuds. My dad didn’t notice as he was a step ahead, pulling Avery through the aisle between the tables. I wish I could say I stopped and made amends and offered to replace the assaulted side dish. Instead I gasped, uttered a horrified, “Oh my god. I’m SO sorry” and fled. I know, I know. I’m a horrible person. 

Potato Lady. I really am sorry. I sincerely hope they gave you a replacement scoop of potatoes, otherwise I owe you .99 cents.  Potato Lady, please know that I actually do have manners, but I panicked. I just couldn’t face yet another humiliating episode in the Ikea cafe. Potato Lady, please accept my apology and if our paths should ever cross, I’ll buy you one of those .99 cent GIANT chocolate bars at the Ikea check-out. Great quality chocolate for a buck? Can’t beat it. Seriously, it’s the best deal out there. But I digress. Sorry Potato Lady.
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