Just Keep Your Hands To Yourself and Don't Say a Word!

Yeah, if I only had a dollar for every time I said that.

And another dollar for every time my kids ignored this plea.

(I would be RICH. And, blogging from a island. Somewhere tropical. On a laptop. Not this really heavy thing full of cords, somewhere in the middle of America where the leaves are robbing me of my free time on the weekend. This weekend I'll be raking, not on a tropical island.)

Welcome to True Story Tuesday!

My Bruiser has always been THAT child that blurts out everything and anything that is rolling around in his amazing little mind. Sometimes it makes me proud and other times I wish I were invisible.

It all started on a normal day at the grocery store. My list was a mile long and my kids were bored. To stir things up a little, I let them sit in the "Truck Cart." Fun for them, not for me. Have you ever tried to maneuver one of those things? I am pretty sure they were designed by a man who never once ventured into a grocery store with a couple of kids and an empty pantry at home. They have a small basket, are heavy, awkward, and are a booger to twist and turn through the aisles.

So, picture this:

Only, Bruiser was much smaller and sporting some irresistible cheeks. Ya know, basically the definition of cute.

That is, until he opened his mouth.

We were cruising the meat department. Then, Bruiser spotted HIM. A man in his thirties. Sporting piercings. EVERYWHERE. Wearing black leather. LIKE IT WAS GOING OUT OF STYLE. Stroking his dark black, spiky hair. BLACK AS NIGHT AND SHARP AS NAILS. And, let me not forget the tattoos. COVERING EVERY INCH OF EXPOSED SKIN.

So basically, not your average Joe at the supermarket on double coupon day.

Bruiser and I spot him at the exact same time. I try to quickly turn down the cereal aisle so I can tell him that we will discuss whatever is on his mind IN THE CAR. Not here. Not now.

But, I am not fast enough. (Darn Truck Cart!)

Bruiser says, IN HIS LOUDEST VOICE EVER, "Are you a bad guy?"

My face turns RED. The man's back is too us. I immediately think, "If he is, we are dead now!"

He seems to be ignoring us.

Then, EVEN LOUDER. Bruiser says, "I said, 'Are you a bad guy'?!"

I finally get into the blasted cereal aisle. We duck and cover. I bend down to the plastic steering wheel and tell Bruiser that he is not to say another word until we get into the van.

Not one more word.

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