I did.  I parked in the spot for Mothers with Children…and I had no children.

But wait. I mean, it was like I had the kids with me, they just were not actually “with” me. Plus, I  was there because of them anyway.

Jeff was out of town.  We have had night after night of late nights due to Labor Day, sports and dinner guests which always makes for slightly challenging mornings.

I was determined to get everyone to bed early and enjoy popcorn by myself while watching my new obsession, “Extreme Parenting” on Bravo.

Finally got everyone settled down around 9:00, got the Stir Crazy popcorn maker out, reached for the salt, butter and finally the Orval Redenbachers…oh, shit. There was barely a third of a cup of popcorn in there.  Those damn kids–AGAIN.

Fine. I put on a bra (you are welcome, Marsh customers at 9:00PM on 9/4/14) and changed out of my pajama pants (see people, pajama bottoms are not proper attire even for a late night run to the store. Stop. Wearing. Them. In. Public.) and drove like a bat out of hell to the store down the street.

And that’s when I screeched in to the spot (I mean, I really did screech; they just recently resurfaced the asphalt so my tires squealed loud enough to draw attention to my van).  Hopped out, slammed the door and noticed two people in the parking lot looking at me, watching me, judging me.

Fine, I parked in the spot and have no kids with me.  But dammit, that’s why I am here.  The kids at all my popcorn.  Kind of the same thing, right?

 

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