It’s Not All Mary Poppins

It’s only because we’re CONSPICUOUS

It always feels a bit illicit.

I’ve taken the tots to the local mall. It’s about a two km walk each way, easily manageable for Noah and Tyler on foot, the babies all neatly tucked into my four-seater stroller. I have a few errands to run, an item or two to pick up. I’ll hit the drug store, the post office, the grocery store.

And, oh! I’m out of wine. Why don’t I pick up a bottle while I’m here?

Well, no reason why not at all, except that I feel hugely conspicuous with my enormous stroller and my five-kids-under-three. You can imagine the thoughts in the heads around you.

“My GOD, look at all those kids! Sure can see why she’d be needing that!”
“I hope she’s not going to go straight home and slug that back.”

I don’t drink during work hours, of course, but now that the nice weather’s arrived, I do enjoy a glass on the front porch after work. I mean that quite literally, too: a glass. One bottle lasts me a week, usually. But somehow you feel, in this situation, like you’re a certain kind of mental image: the middle-aged lush-lady, the slatternly caregiver on that slippery slope down to greeting the parents with a crooked grin, bra-straps showing, reeking of gin.

Like I said, I feel a tad illicit.

But hey. A bottle a week, tops. It’s not like I’m in and out of that place four times a week. And it is Friday, after all. Conspicuous yes — I’m conspicuous at work no matter where I go — but not out of control.

We approach the cashier, who takes the bottle and greets the the tots with a broad smile.

“Hey, guys! Nice to see you all again!”

Next time, my husband can pick up the damned wine.

June 18, 2010 Posted by | our adoring public, outings | , , , , | 11 Comments