The text message you don’t want to get from your partner when you’re away at work (right before I hit “Send”). Or at least, you wouldn’t want it cut off at the first sentence.
Are any details necessary? Oh, I don’t know. Just the second worst grocery shopping experience, ever.
First worse was the one in the crowded holiday store when the lil’ peanut coughed and hurled and coughed and hurled and finally just hurled and hurled. Had to leave the painstakingly filled-up cart in situ in the canned food aisle, and speed home, one eye on his nodding head in the rear view mirror, while I called for help to greet me upon arrival. Glad there’s a hands-free cell phone use law in California now. I wouldn’t have wanted to be on the road with me on it last December.
This one? The second worst grocery shopping experience, ever? Nothing a pint-sized pair of ankle cuffs and a bright orange jumpsuit wouldn’t have cured. Oh, and a microchip in her neck. Am now going to Google “toddler-sized ankle cuffs” and “Size 4T prisoner’s jumpsuit.” Stick ’em in Baba’s go-bag, for the next grocery run. Just in case.