A fun little blog post pointed out to me by an online friend.

Read the i-am-the-center-of-the-universe parenting syndrome.

I might have to change grocery stores after this.

[…]

“Is it okay if I give him some money?”

[…]

“Sure, Francis. That’s awfully sweet of you.”

[…]

Wait! That’s not a duckie! That’s a sticker of a duckie. A fifty cent ducky sticker. A MOTHER FUCKING DUCKY STICKER.
Uh oh.
Instinctively, my body tensed up. I knew what was coming next. It would be loud, and embarrassing. My ears don’t like noises like that. Especially in public.
The tears. The wailing. The gnashing of teeth. It would be a doozy.

[…]

Francis, fully accepting her role in Bucket Head’s meltdown, quickly reached into her apron and pulled out two more quarters. “It’s okay honey. Let’s try again!”

[…]

“Maybe Miss Francis will have better luck…” She inserted the quarters. Turned the crank. We all held our breath, and BOOM…
Another. Motherfucking. Sticker.

[…]

Thanks, Francis, you dirty whore.

[…]

I swooped him up and carried him toward the door, motioning with my head to the bag boy to grab the cart and follow me out to the car.

On the way past the customer service desk, still holding my wailing child, I hissed at the manager “Nice job on the gum ball machines. Really helps to end my shopping trip on a good note.” (Asshole.)

[…]

Addendum: due to popular request, I’ve set up a way for all the well-meaning grannies in the hizzy to just go ahead and give Bucket Head some money. Whether or not I spend it on gum ball machines is none of your business.

My head could explode.