Vehicles of Destruction
(page 1 of 2)
I ran over a man last Sunday. Even though I saw him standing in the opposing lane, I crashed right into him. Of course, my boys (ages 6 and 4) were in the front “driving,” while I struggled to navigate our yellow-and-red behemoth through the store.
To be honest, I blame the manufacturer for the accident. The vehicle was almost impossible to steer, and the front end was too high to see over. It took the strength of 10 bodybuilders to turn the darn thing, and one of the front wheels wasn’t even touching the floor. It just hung there, spinning like a 3-year-old at a Wiggles concert.
Before you ask, the man was fine. I may have bruised his shin, but I sped off apologizing profusely and smiling awkwardly.
Yes, even in the grocery store, mothers are tested. Not by their children, but by those menacing “truck,” “race car,” and “fire engine” shopping carts. What twisted loon came up with this brilliant idea?
At first glance these shopping carts seem cute—whimsical even. Do not be fooled! Your kids will beg, scream, and cry to board these titans of terror. My advice? Just say no. Ignore their pleas and lie shamelessly as a last resort. Trust me: Childbirth has nothing on these carriages of destruction.
First of all, the safety straps are always broken. And the side door rail falls out of its slot at the slightest touch. And did I mention that the fire engine cart actually weighs as much as a real-life fire engine? A fact lost on your cherubs who fight nonstop over who gets to steer. (And that’s another thing: What childless imbecile couldn’t guess that ONE steering wheel/horn/gadget would guarantee a melt-down every time two kids hop on board?)
On to the produce aisle—>