the pig that could have killed me

This pig could’ve killed me. Death by stare.

Let me paint a picture for you. Christmas Eve last minute grocery shopping. Me, running on no sleep. Buddy, teething, on no sleep. But we’d hit that point where you feel like you’re an elf on a cloud picking cotton candy off chocolate trees. OK, you hallucinate a bit. But we were happily slow and serene as we beetled around the market.

Realising I hadn’t got presents for the pets (yes, we are those people) I found this awesome pig.

oink

I can’t express in words how hilarious the oink sounds in the supermarket, on no sleep, caffeine free, with a child that is precariously balancing on the happy/devil child precipice of lack of sleep. So I chucked it in the trolley.

I continued to bump into the 20 something going on 45 group of housemate friends. Who displayed are clear disdain for the game of peekaboo I was playing with my young one in the middle of the aisle – the middle of the aisle is fair game in the middle of the day people (peak hour is a different matter)! And who were disheveled enough and slightly scary in size (height and width), swear word vocabulary, smokers cough, smell of rum and coke, and justin beiber hair do done emo-style for me to hang around in the personal care aisle long enough for them to overtake me.

And one of the girls started staring at me. I smiled, naturally assuming she was admiring my child as she should. No return smile. So I thought maybe my christmas caroling might have her worried I was a risky co-shopper – you know the ones that appear perfectly normal and then start asking you where the batteries are because they need some for their ship that’s moored outside. She was a heavy set girl – actually the whole group were heavy set (I can say that because I’m no size 6 either). She could’ve taken me down in one fake out.

We finished the confectionery and bread aisles. She still kept turning around to stare, only now the brows were becoming  more and more furrowed. And she started getting her friends to turn to me. Their mouths turned down. Heads shaking. At the end of the house cleaners aisle they stopped to stare. I was half way. I was thinking ‘this can’t be good’ and ‘the quickest route to the service desk is via yoghurts’, of course I kept trolleying gazing at the detergents like they were diamonds. And I heard this noise.

This pig was stuck under a box of cereal, and each time I trolleyed fast, or threw something in, or Buddy leaned over to rest his hands on the cereal it would make that noise, with me blissfully unawares, analysing the nutritional panel of Lindt balls.

So to the group that I followed, if you thought a young mother, with a laden trolley, and with a half crying half laughing baby, who was half crying half laughing to herself in the supermarket was making oink noises at you. I’m really sorry. Take heart, I wasn’t making oink noises at you. And I also am not insane.

Lesson learned – don’t put squeaky toys in your supermarket trolley.

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