Vaginas in The Produce Aisle

by Cookie

I had the strangest experience yesterday.  I thought I’d do the grocery shopping while Husband was on a day off to make the whole process a little quicker.  As if I can do anything quickly these days.  But honestly, getting the Destroyer in and out of her carseat is starting to aggravate me in my unbendable state.  How many weeks to go 11?  As if.

Anyway, I had just started shopping, and realized that my cart was the one with the fucked up wheel. You know, the one that shakes and makes this annoying sound that causes everyone to look at you when you walk by.  The “I’m a douchebag” alarm.  So I was contemplating returning it for another one while all I had to move was a bag of bagels and a cucumber.  (Insert penis joke here).

So this older man comes up to me and says “I always expect girls like you to have a baby in the cart”


Girls like me?  Girls with the retarded cart?  Girls with big tits and brown hair?  Pregnant girls?  Devastatingly beautiful girls? Girls who grocery shop during the day who must be stay at home moms?

Tell me Stranger, what kind of girl am I?

But my snark wasn’t quick enough, and instead I said ” She’s at home with her Daddy”.

Which in retired people speak means “Let’s chat.” Goddamn my slow pregnant brain.

So he starts telling me about his 2 granddaughters, which was sweet, because I like to see a grandparent gush about their kiddies like a new parent.

Until he tells me about how he is babysitting the other day and all about the “peepee” his grandchild declared she had to make.  And as he is recanting what she said , it is obvious that he converses in French with this little one.

“Do you speak French?”  He asks.

Stupidly I say “Oui.”

So now, not only do I have to listen, but I have to concentrate.  Because my French is no longer as good as it used to be.

And this is where things really went downhill.  Because now I get to hear about  bath time.  And how the little girl likes to use all the proper terms for all her bits.  Which fucking terrifies me.  Why oh why does this strange french man have to tell me about bath time?

Why do I have to hear how he held her and washed her back and her bum, but when he tried to wash the front, the little girl told him that no one washes her vagina except her and her mommy.

Oh my God why do I need to know about this?  Why is this so important to stop me in the produce aisle with my shitty cart and my pregnant ass and my childless shopping trip and tell me stories about a little girl’s vagina?

And you know what else?  The word “vagina” in French sounds 10 times as dirty as it does in English.

I figure there are three explanations for this bizarre experience:

1. I just look like someone who likes to hear vagina stories.

2. This man was really lonely,but excited that he gets to babysit his grandchildren, but needs to tone down the creepy.

3.  I am totally going to be featured on CBC’s “Just For Laughs”  or “Punk’d” or something.

Happy Wednesday, Vaginas!