I was Assaulted by an Angry Two Year Old on Christmas Eve

This story should probably go on the pink page so no one else can read it but, oh, what the hell...

The first time I went to the store that day it was to cash in my 6 bucks in change so I could get some more butter, pie crusts and eggs because I had run out. I get to the change counter and there is a 6 person line. I think, "well I'll just go round up my stuff and come back." That took about a minute. I get back to the line and there is one guy finishing up and three women, obviously together. A woman and her two granddaughters. The first thing that slightly irritated me was that the guy finishing up was determined that the change counter counted all his change and so kept returning the rejected coins back to the tray to get counted again. He did this about five times but finally finished, took his little slip and went to cash out. Then the girls proceeded to get ready to do their business.

Now here is where I kick myself for not listening to my inner voice that said "explain that you only have six bucks and see if they will let you go ahead of them" but did I listen? Nope, not me. I stood there and silently (sort of) watched as they dug around in their three bags of change and loaded it, one handful at a time, to the tune of four hundred and forty two dollars and some change. Do you know how long it takes for Coinstar to count four hundred and forty two dollars in change? I do. About an hour. It was a sweet story when I got home and thought about it. The grandmother wanted to do something for her granddaughters for Christmas so she let them hit her change jar. Lord have mercy, they only hit half of it :) She was a sweet lady and the girls were so obviously giddy that it was really hard to get mad at them.

Then, later on that day, some more money arrived to my house and I went back to the store because i needed a few more things and knew the store was going to close at five. It was about four and raining and 78 degrees and muggy...typical Mississippi Christmas eve. I pull into the packed parking lot and decide to wait on a handicapped parking space because I know if I get soaked I will get seriously sick. Even though I have a sticker, normally, in that case I would just park somewhere and cuss people who park in handicapped places without a sticker. But that day I decided to wait. I look up to see a big ole green Expedition or Excursion or some such huge unnecessary vehicle with it's owners loading their stuff into said vehicle. So I think "ok, I'll wait for that space, it shouldn't be long." Ok, brace for it, this is where the story starts to deteriorate into pettiness and blatant racism. The owners of said vehicle could see that I was waiting for their spot. Did they get done with their business and move out of said spot? Nope. They took their sweet time loading their small amount of groceries into the vehicle then proceeded to have a conversation with another lady in the parking lot and then when she was about to walk away to go into the store they said "wait do I have your phone number?" So she had to walk all the way back to give it to them. Then they decided they needed to go back into the store with her. Needless to way by this time smoke is pouring out of my ears.

Normally I would have just been mildly pissed at my misfortune and stupid choice of person to wait on. Kind of like how you get pissed at yourself for changing lanes in the grocery store thinking the line you choose is moving faster only to get in the one that has to have a price check or some such time consuming action immediately after you get in it.

Not that day though. The enjoyment that they were getting in making me wait was so blatantly obvious. They would look over at me and laugh every so often. Luckily about the time they decided to go back in the store the car beside me decided to come out so I could immediately go into that parking space. You could see the disappointment on their faces.

I get in the store, get my buggy and head for the greens and who is there? You guessed it...the group from the vehicle. Now this group consisted of an older woman, two 20-something haughty b***hes, dressed in daisy dukes, cheap jewelry, tight shirts and lots of makeup, two 20-something guys and the two year old is sitting in the buggy. They are taking up the entire "greens" space. The two 20-something women are arguing over whether they want mustard or turnips. The two year old's buggy is by the cabbage. Whoa is me, I decided that this was the path of least resistance and just went for the cabbage, thinking I could just grab a head and go. About the time I reached, in front of the two year old, to grab a head I felt this sharp WHAP! in my side. I had been punched by the two year old! I let out an OUCH! before I could stop myself, dammit. It shocked me more than it hurt. The boys' father told his mother and of coarse she knocked the crap out of him right there in the store and half-heartedly told him to apologize, a word I'm sure the two year old had never even heard before. I felt so bad. I looked at the kid and told him not to worry about it, that it wasn't his fault. Because, you know, it wasn't. At the time, I'm thinking that he was only doing what he had been taught at home. To hate. As I walked away from them I heard very loud giggling and guffawing. I'm sure they thought it was just hilarious that their child had hit an old white woman. Needless to say they went everywhere I did in the store but I finally managed to get finished and get out of there.

It was only when I got home and had time to reflect on the incident that I realized what I had done that made the child strike me. I quite simply had invaded his space and as one who places a high value on her own personal space, I should not have invaded his. He was just trying to remove me from his space. So then thinking about two year olds and how they relate, I got really tickled about him standing up for himself. It did make me wonder though, what was going on in his home that would make him feel so fiercely protective of his space in the first place.