Went to WalMart today. Picked up some stuff. Paperclips and paper for me, because baby, I know how to live! Oh yes, and bubble gum, because as we all know, my inner child pretty much runs the show.
Todd picked up some things too, including the computer Yu-Gi-Oh game. The Joey version. He got the Yugi one for Christmas, and he wanted the Joey one now. And of course, other stuff that was too boring to mention. (Pretty pathetic, considering I didn't think paper and paperclips were too boring to mention...)
Some idiot before me had decided that it would be really fun to stop up the sinks and leave the water running, resulting in a nice, slick, coat of water all over the floor. As I'm plotting my way around carefully, thinking about how I will bring this to someone's attention at WalMart, the door opens and I hear this guy go, "It's okay *Heather, Daddy will wait right outside for you."
I was about to yell, "Sir, be careful! The floor is wet!" because to be honest, I'd rather risk a guy coming into the ladies room with his kid, and possibly hearing me peeing than to risk a small child going into the bathroom alone and falling. But, I heard the door click. And, I hear footsteps, then the "whoa whoa whoa!" and the fall.
I finish up business real quick and rush out the stall. Heather has fallen, thanks to the jackass who plugged the sinks, but she seem okay. Just now she's got a soaking wet bottom.
I kneel down beside her and say what I usually say to kids when they fall. "Are you okay?" No, I do not grab fallen children and haul them to their feet. Why? Because I had a friend in gradeschool who got very badly messed up because some, well meaning adult hauled her to her feet after a sledding accident and made an injury to her back much worse. Kids know their bodies better than we give them credit for. I find the best policy with fallen kids is to ask them if they are okay, and advise them if they start to move and anything hurts to stop immedietly.
Heather's lower lip stick out and she says, "I'm fine, but now it looks like I wet my pants!" Which, it sorta did. She stands up. Toilet training wasn't all that far away for this kid, you can tell.
We discuss things for a bit and she decides that despite the mishap, she does still have the problem of having to pee, so she goes to do that. I'm asking her if she wants me to get her daddy (the ladies room was empty except for us, so I didn't think it would be a big deal) Heather decides no. The water is mostly around the sink, so once she stands, and seems fine, except for wet pants, I lift her over the puddle, put her on dry ground and let her take care of business.
When she comes out, she's still almost in tears because her pants are wet and she's afraid her daddy will think she had an accident. I offer to explain. She shakes her head and goes, "But he'll see me and he'll think..." and trails off with tears.
So, I take off my sweat shirt, cause I have a Tshirt on underneath, wrap it around her, tie it by the arms. She's small enough so it looked like some odd wrap around skirt. We leave the ladies room together.
Father is outside. I explain quickly what happened. WalMart worker going by hears story and immedietly goes to get someone to clean up the ladies room and a manager to make sure the kid is okay. Heather keeps saying she's fine. Father keeps saying "she's fine."
I figure at this point, I'm of no real need at all, so I walk away, kissing my sweatshirt good bye.
As Todd and I are in the checkout line. I've filled Todd in a bit and we agree that the loss of a sweatshirt is something we can afford in this case.
As we're checking out, I hear Heather going, "THERE SHE IS!" in a really loud voice. I look up and Father has Heather on his shoulders and she's waving my sweatshirt in the air. "LADY LADY!" she's screaming.
She's also wearing dry pants. I don't know if the manager gave her the pants... I sorta hope so. I mean, I know it's not WalMart's fault the sinks were stopped up, but c'mon, it's winter...if you could let a child walk around in soaking pants when you have the power to fix that, then you're an asshole.
Dad and daughter come running up to me. Heather leans down and goes, "Thank you for the shirt!" Then grins and says, "No one saw my WET BUM!"
Father turns purple with embarassment. I turned purple too, but that's because I was trying not to laugh. I take the slightly damp sweatshirt and tell them it was no problem.
As we're driving home, I felt my faith in humanity restored a bit. It wasn't that the sweatshirt was a big deal to me, it wasn't. And I figured it would be quite natural in all the worry over his daughter, for Dad to totally space that a stranger gave his daughter the shirt. But they didn't. Once Heather was fixed up, they searched for me to return it. That's pretty cool.
But for some reason, I want to make an icon that says "No one saw my WET BUM!" cause that just tickled the heck out of me.
*Not her real name, of course...
When we got home from the Enchanted Kingdom of WalMart, we unloaded the car and started putting stuff away. At first we were so occupied with this, that we didn't notice Goten wasn't around. And Goten usually wants to inspect everything new we bring into the house and comes running. But no Goten.
We search the house....no Goten.
Earlier this morning, I had heated up some cinnamon rolls in the oven. When that was done, I had left the door open to let the heat into the apartment. Before we left, I had shut the oven door.
Guess where Goten was?
Thank God he pulled this trick before, so we finally thought to look there, because if we hadn't...well, I had bought Digorno Pizza for dinner tonight, and chances are, I would have just flicked the oven to 400 degrees.
I now have a handmade sign on the splashboard behind the stove that says, "Check for the cat before turning on oven!"
At least I now know that ovens are not air tight. At least my oven is not airtight. I'm glad for this. I think...
It's been a strangely amusing kinda day. I like these.