Today I was at the Soul-Sucking International Warehouse of Cheap Products, trying to purvey a butt-load of groceries in the two hours while Arwyn was at school.  I was running short on time and then a miracle happened:  I saw a really short check-out line.  There was only one person in front of me.  While I was impatiently waiting to start piling my groceries on the conveyor belt, the check-out lady saw a friend passing by and stopped checking out the person in front of me to talk to her friend for, oh two or three minutes.  The calm and collected gentleman in front of me and I conversed about the merits of butter lettuce while she chatted away.  Her impromptu reunion over, Check Out Lady continued checking out Calm & Collected.  Then, while she was checking me out she stopped to speak to two more co-workers that walked past.  All the while I am trying my best to stay cool and just get the heck out of this store.  She didn’t seem very pleased when I asked for some of my purchases not to be bagged (I can only re-use so many of those freakin’ plastic bags.)  I purchased a six-pack of beer for my hubby (Look at me!  Pregnant and buying beer!  Woo hoo!) and she asked for my I.D.  When I laid my wallet on the counter, the metal key ring on the end of the wallet made a loud noise as it connected with the countertop.  Apparently, Check Out Lady thought I slapped it down on the counter in a snit, because she then icily asked if she offended me.  I was practically biting completely through my tongue at this point not to lash out at this woman.  I merely replied “No” and continued to place my bags into the cart.  I wanted to say, “You can check my I.D. all you want.  What offends me is you continue to stop doing your job, costing me valuable time, to chat with passers-by.” But I was afraid that if I started down that road, I would lose it and end up being escorted from the store by security as I screamed obscenities.  I felt my face turn red as I made a valiant effort to control my temper.  Without a thank you, fuck you, or anything else, she slung the receipt in my general direction and walked away from the register, even though there was an elderly couple waiting in line behind me.

I realize I was shopping at  the Soul-Sucking International Warehouse of Cheap Products and they aren’t exactly well known for their employee’s mental stability or excellent level of customer service.  I also realize that I am pregnant and the hormones are having an absolute field day with me, whipping around and causing all sorts of ruckus.  Normally, I steam about something like this for a few minutes and then I can let it go.  But I was PISSED.  As I was leaving the parking lot, I tried to call Juju so she could have a good laugh at my expense.  She was at work, so I called Aunt Banana, who tried to top my story (or at least distract me from it) with a story of being approached by two separate strange men in the lobby of a ski lodge.

It’s like there are two sides of my brain:  reasonable and CRAZY.  I know that I am being sensitive, emotional and hormonal but there is nothing I can do to stop it.  After Sunday’s crying fest and today’s anger fest I am starting to be very, very afraid of the post-partum period that will be upon us in five months.