Mistaken Identity

Let me preface this story with two statements: first, this is not an exaggeration. And Mark is never as amused as I am by stories that begin with "You'll never guess what happened to me when I went out to ____ looking like crap". He has heard enough of these to wonder at my continued state of disarray and to mourn the loss of his somewhat more put together wife.

Alright, here it is. On Friday, I had several errands to run and not a lot of time to accomplish them. I had to shuffle Eli around in the morning to get him moving and take stock of what we needed to replenish our supply of processed foods. I usually pull on a pair of sweats and zip-up sweatshirt first thing in the morning; it is a really special day if I change out of them before 3pm. I don't have a lot of time to play in front of the mirror before I go out, so I am often found a bit, shall we say sloppy. Now don't think me selfless here. It isn't that I am the poor mother who doesn't have time to shower and never gets to think of herself, but more, "ah who cares" that goes through my head.

So, off I went on Friday, dressed in my sweats with no make-up and a messy ponytail that looked slept in. We ended up at Cub Foods (not the most glamorous of grocery stores). Eli and I filled our cart with ease and felt successful. Then we rolled up to the check-out line. (Let me stop here with an aside. At the grocery store, when one is available, Eli likes the grocery cart that has the race car at the front that he can sit in. This cumbersome cart is very loud and steers like a semi. Everyone always stares at me and I inevitably crash into a few store displays each time I use it.) Back to check-out line... With this giant cart, it is impossible to get in front of the cart to put groceries onto the conveyor, so I had to lean over the bar, deep into the cart to reach the far back corners. This probably caused me to look even more crazy. As the young gentleman started to scan the items, he abruptly stopped and said, "Oh, now is this going to be on the government assistance program?" I must have looked confused. I tried not to sound huffy when I answered "Nope". He scanned a few more and said, "Wait, did you say it was not on the government assistant program?" This time I said clearly, "I am not on government assistance. But thank you."

While I was taken aback by this mistake, the humor of the situation did not escape me. I took a survey of my appearance as I walked away with my groceries. I was in loose fitting sweats, with rumpled hair and toddler that refuses to take off his winter coat even after being in the store for 30 minutes. I had not put on my wedding rings. It is not unreasonable that I was asked this question.

On my way home, I called Mark to tell him and laugh. He didn't laugh as much as I did. Maybe there is something depressing about someone thinking your wife is single and poor. Next week, for Mark's sake, maybe I will put some make-up on with my sweats. Or I will find a Ralph Lauren velour sweat suit from T.J. Maxx. No one could possibly think ill of me that way.