Flash Mob

by Patti

S was 3, and had awaited her first bottle of Gymboree Bubbles (which, really? How are they different from “regular” bubbles?) like she might wait now for a kiss from Justin Bieber.

So I plunked down the TEN dollars for said bubbles and began the walk through the mall back to the car. As we walked, S circled my feet like a hyper puppy, jumping over them, around them, ON them, begging me to PLEASE let her open the bubbles now right now now right now, and I patiently told her over (and over) again to wait until we got outside. The walk really wasn’t that long, and I didn’t think I was abusing my child any more than usual by making her wait.

The NOW! Hysteria grew with each step, and by the time we got to Nordstrom, and began to pass the “accost you with perfume” ladies in their white “lab” coats, S had reached her peak levels of frustration. At that very moment, I don’t think her 3-year old body knew what to do with the sheer helplessness she felt at not being able to purse her lips to that overpriced plastic pink wand and blow out the joyous rainbow of bubbles that would no doubt come out when she did, so she did what she had to do: She yanked down my skirt. Hard.

The Perfume Lady’s bottle stopped mid-air. Even the bottle was afraid of what it was seeing. S knew something Bad had happened, and her cry stopped mid-yelp.

I was in the middle of Nordstrom. My skirt was halfway down my legs. I was wearing a thong. My hadn’t-seen-the-sun since that-unfortunate-day-at-the-nude-beach ass was hanging out. I had only a sheer lil’ triangle “covering” my lady parts. This translated to practically NAKED.

My hands flew to the elastic waist of my skirt, which was now in a rather humiliated heap around my ankle, and pulled it up with lightning speed. However, not before I managed to put on a sweet little afternoon show for Nordstrom shoppers. And the Perfume Ladies. And the Cosmetic Counter Girls.

I bravely pretended like this was something I did all the time what is the big deal, and kept walking to the car, this time yanking S behind me in a manner you see mothers do at WalMart all the time. This was not a Nordstrom way to handle your child, but did I care? DID I CARE?

Once we got outside, I knelt down to eye level with S, and said, “Do you understand what you did in there?” Her big brown eyes searched my face, giving nothing away. “What do you SAY?”She looked down at the ground, shuffled her feet modestly, and looked back at me, her eyes wide, “NOW can I have the bubbles?"