Walk of Shame

The explosion was unexpected. I didn't really see it coming, though there were warning signs; I didn't pay attention. All was calm and even pleasant. My children and I sailed through the isles of needs and luxuries, picking up this and that and adding it to the bulging cart. We had pleasant banter and some discussion as to what kinds of things we were going to buy and what kinds of things we were not. There was no arguing though, because the kids were well fed, they were well rested (I thought) and they each were clutching their souvenirs (personally chosen sandals, hats and sunglasses). All was well as we reached the dock and began to disembark. My sweet, lovely little girl was getting tired of sitting in the vessel, so I let her out to stretch her legs. That's when she spied the wares. You know the ones, the colorful wrapped candy awaiting every child's impulse. Her first request was already quite strong, determined and forceful. It met with my equally determined, yet patient (I thought) "no, not today, we already have our treats". Without warning or any further progression in the discussion a full out tantrum storm erupted in front of me. The furry of her screams was matched by the whirlwind of her arms as her little fists lashed out at me hitting and scratching out a rhythm of anger. The merchants gave me a sympathetic smile and increased their processing speed. I tried to contain the furry storm in my cart, but then had no place to put my wares. There needed to be a wise response for such disruptive and disrespectful behaviour, I could feel the other patrons lined up behind me demanding it of me through their curious stares. I knew they were wondering just how I was going to handle this gale force. Quietly I asked the merchant to remove the carefully chosen pink hat with rhinestones and the cute purple Marilyn Monroe sunglasses from our pile of wares. I showed my little thunder cloud that the outcome of her tirade would be leaving her precious cargo behind. This did not change the stormy mood, nor calm the seas, but it gave satisfaction to the onlookers. A few "good for you"s, and "I've been there" were cast my way. These comments did not patch my leaky pride, the more sympathetic smiles given to me, the more holes I could feel punched into my self esteem. As I held on to my raging child and tried to comfort my compassionate son who was doing all he could to plead his sister's case with big tears rolling down his cheeks, I pushed my cargo down the walk way. We passed every single merchant port. Throngs of wide eyes following our every move, I leaked. I broke. I ducked my head and tears squeezed out despite my efforts to keep them in check. In the car I got my breath back, wiped the tears, spoke sternly, honestly and lovingly to my children. Tried not to care about "the looks", drove home. My thundercloud floated off into dream land the moment the engine started running, and I smiled at her.