Never have I ever....wanted to dissapear into thin air

...like I did today.
Allow me to set the scene: We are at the Hallmark store at the mall picking up a card. Because it was yet another yucky, icky, cold, wet/sleeting/snowing/raining day here in New England, the mall was packed with lots of other moms hoping to re-gain some sanity by escaping the confines of their homes for an hour or two. And so we stood in line to make our purchase for a good 10-15 minutes. (unheard of at Hallmark store!) Now those of you with kiddos can understand hat ten minutes in kid time equals, like, 5 years in grown-up time.  There was whining, flailing, begging for toys, bribery with Cheerio-s and other miscelaneous snacks, and ultimately a game of "I Spy" to pass the minutes more quickly.

I started the game....

"Ok Aves, I spy something yellow with a shiny silver top."

After looking around the store for a while in deep thought (forefinger tapping on her cheek as she did,) she finally had her 'A-HA!' moment and realized what I had spied; a Yankee candle on the front display. 

"Good job! Okay, your turn," I told her.

"Hmmmm," she began as she looked around the crowded store for a good clue to stump her Mom. And then a very mischievous look came over her face.

"Momma?"  she said. "Can I tell you a secret?"

(*It is extremely important to note here that this is how she "tells secrets"....she cups the back of her ear (instead of her mouth) as she tells said secret, leaving her voice totally exposed for everyone to hear, and then for some reason feels the need to tell the secret at ten 100 decibels higher than she would normally say any other random thing.  So in essence, an "Ava secret" is quite a paradox in and of itself.)


"Of course you can, baby," I tell her.
And so I assume the secret-telling position, stooping to her level by squatting next to her. She cups her ear, leans towards me, and proceeds to state loudly:



"I was going to say 'I Spy a lady with massive boobs in front of you!' and I just wanted to tell you Momma, they are BIG. Even bigger than yours! And you can even see her booby crack because her shirt is too small!"

This secret-telling session cumlinated with a tremendous, high-pitched giggle from her, and her infamous raised eyebrows and wide-eyed expression, begging me to laugh in accordance with this hilarity.

I don't think that another time in my life has ever existed when I actually wished that someone would throw a bucket of water at me and, in true Wicked Witch style, I could melt into the floor leaving behind nothing but my pile of clothes.

At this very moment, I was three things simultaneously:

1). Completely morfitied. 
2). Horrified that this (supposed) big-breasted woman in front of us (who clearly) heard the entire "secret" might turn around and read me a riot act about disciplining my child and teaching her respect & decency.
3). Baffled & clueless as to how to end this conversation ASAP before things got worse (if that was even a possibility at this point.)

All I could think of in that moment to avert more disaster was the first thing to catch my nervous eyes; the marvelous, shiny stack of multicolored Lindt chocolate balls 2 feet in front of us - any child's dream. 

"Aves, do you think you can count how many balls are in that pile up there??"  I asked her, trying to act normal, as if the horror of the "incident" 50 seconds ago never happened. "If you can, you can choose one to eat when we get to the register!!"

"Sure Momma!" she happily exclaimed (thank you GOD that children are completely ignorant to the conversation-changing tactics of their parents in moments like these and able to just go with the flow...) And so began this ridiculous Lindt ball-counting journey out loud: One, two, three, four....


I believe she was somewhere around seventy-six when it was finally our turn at the cashier.  I tried desperately to avoid eye contact with the booby-crack perpetrator (who was checking out that the cashier directly next to us), but was suddenly overcome by an overwhelming desire to glance...just one harmless glance...to see if my daughter had inherited the "I'm a complete exaggerator" gene from me, of if there was any validity to her previously urgent "secret."

Just one glance....I thought to myself, and fake-reached for a pack of gum in that direction as not to blow my cover completely...

Oh. Em. Effing Gee.

That's when I saw them.

They were massive.  And for me, (a very full-bosomed woman myself) to be alarmed at their size... that's saying somethin'.

I am not joking when I tell you they had to have been at least a J cup. Maybe a Q. Triple Q. I don't even know. HONEST TO GOD, they were each the size of medium-to-large sized watermelons. The biggest bazoombas I have ever seen, period. And the shirt  she was wearing looked like it was shop-lifted out of the closet of an American Girl doll...so you can just imagine the PDC (public display of cleavage) situation that was going on.

Ultimately, booby-crack lady never made eye contact with me or Aves and went on her merry way after her purchases were made...there was no defamation of character lawsuit threatened, no finger-waving at my child, not even a subtle, irritated acknowledgement of what was said about her or her boobies.

Phew. I thought as she walked out of the store. We're safe!

Ava grabbed her well-earned prize-- a red Lindt chocolate ball, smiled at me, and took my hand in hers as we left the store.  

"Can we play more I-Spy?"  she asked me, completely unaware of the (massive) social faux pas that she had just committed minutes prior.


But I don't even think I answered her...I was too busy daydreaming about her first game of "Telephone" in third grade....and how badly she will inevitably do, unless I take the next few years to sharpen  completely revamp her secret-telling skills.  ;-)