I had to run to Wal-Mart today, for three measly things. Ainsley was with me and wanted (needed or she’d die) to spend Christmas money. She had $20 with her and she wanted a $10 watch and a coat for Scooby (ugly dog) that cost $10.
"Ainsley, you won't have enough money." She looks at me like I'm a moron. Ten plus ten equals twenty, right? Tax, I say.
"Mama," she says, like she's talking to someone with the intelligence of a block of wood, "the watch was $9.88 and the coat was $9.77. So I have enough." Roll of eyes and put upon sigh. Poor thing has to explain everything to me.
"Ainsley." Death stare. "The tax will be more than that."
"No. It. Won't. Mama."
Well, I guess she told me.
"Whatever."
Try explaining something to the nine year old that knows it all. I can't wait until she's a teenager.
We got to the checkout lane and I let her go first because I’m sweet. And I wanted to see the look on her face when…
“That’ll be $21.20, sweetie.”
Ainsley hands her a $20 bill. The cashier looks at it, then at Ainsley. Ainsley looks at her, then at me. The cashier looks at me. I smile.
“She needs another dollar and twenty cents, Punkin,” I say, still smiling. Ainsley looks at me. She bats her eyes. She knows better than to ask, but a well placed eye bat has always worked well, especially with Daddy. “Do you have any more money?” She shakes her head. “Well, which do you want to put back, the coat or the watch?” She gapes at me. I can’t be serious. Really? She tries a lip tremble, but I don’t cave. I smile.
I help her out a little. She’s been wanting the watch for a while, so I suggest she wait until another day when she has more money to get the coat for Scooby. It’s amazing how quickly her face can turn can stroke-level red. She pays for her watch, eyes swimming in hot, angry tears. I’m fairly sure if she had a gun…
I paid for my purchases, getting my change, and I’m almost positive the now-glaring cashier was thinking, “You have $1.20 you could have given that poor little angel-baby. Mean, heartless monster.”
I’m wondering if I’m up for Mom of the Year for that debacle, or Meanest Mom in the History of the World. I really could have spared the buck-twenty.
