I was in line at Starbucks today, completely hangry because I forgot to eat lunch. My 3-year-old was with me, climbing on the walls, because he also forgot something rather important today: how to nap.
So, of course, the line to order was 10 minutes long and my kid was a dang Jack-in-the-Box, completely wound up and ready to bust open any minute with some brand of shenanigans that I wouldn’t be able to control. Tensions were rising. I was two seconds away from busting out my Batman voice in public when the line finally moved forward.
Phew. Attention-grab diverted.
I got straight down to business with the barista, ordering a nuclear dose of caffeine for myself, a to-go order for my hubby, and a sugar-bomb snack for the kiddo. I was busy deciding between banana loaf or pumpkin when all of the sudden I felt a cool breeze…
…0n my butt.
In the moment it took for me to process this information, I turned around and realized that my son had lifted my dress up over his head and was wearing it like a hat. My granny panties and dimpled behind were fully exposed to the world behind me. And y’all, this literally took one second. But my son wasn’t finished yet. Oh, no.
Because in that one second, he also spun around, wrapping his head up like a Dum Dum with my dress and absolutely wigged out because…
“MOMMY, I STUCK! MOMMY I CANT BWEEEETH!!!!”
All the while my butt was flashing the horrified rush-hour crowd, and my barista really wanted me to complete my dang order.
I am a mom blogger. It’s great to have a large following, and it goes with the territory that occasionally I get recognized by a reader. I’m not going to lie, I enjoy that part. It’s fun!
Except for when my son’s head is literally stuck against my butt, shrink-wrapped like a lollipop, and he’s panicking because he might just die back there, and really, could there be anything worse?!
I finally unwrapped my son’s head from inside my clothes, and he fell onto the floor like toddlers do, dramatically panting for air. Because this was super traumatic for him. He almost died in there, for heaven’s sake!
I shooed away a concerned customer who was offering I don’t even know what. Medical attention or something? GOOD LORD.
He is fine, I am fine, we are all fine. OMG can I please just disappear now?
I covered my butt back up and tried to be cool. I just wanted to pay the barista like none of this just happened right before his mortified teenage eyes.
“Birth control, right?” I laughed awkwardly, offering my card for payment. Why do I say things like this when I’m nervous?
He then proceeded to tell me that my tab had been covered, and y’all, “The man said to tell you that ‘he’s a fan.'”
Oh, of COURSE.
So, here I am, at home, sipping on a pecan maple latte and wondering if this Good Samaritan was a fan of my blog, a fan of my parenting, or perhaps something else? I mean, I jog on a regular basis, but c’mon, my butt isn’t that amazing.
No. My guess is it was something else. I bet he was simply a dad. A dad who could appreciate this family circus that travels around Florida, proving to the world that no matter how bad your day is, it could always be worse.
You could always be that mom whose child got his head stuck in her dress, revealing her bare butt to an entire Starbucks.
Either way, I suppose I should thank this kind man. So, thank you, sir. This latte was delicious.
Especially with that big ole slice of humble pie.
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