Say What?!? At Whole Foods

Last week Social Living was running a deal for half priced groceries at Whole Foods. (More specifically $10 for $20 worth of groceries.) Since I ambitiously planned macadamia crusted halibut for dinner on Thursday night, I bought the voucher and was looking forward to scoring some half priced fish. By the way, macadamia crusted halibut with a pineapple chutney sounds delicious, but my attempt was highly disappointing, and after my Whole Foods experience I may never try it again.

My original plan was to hit Whole Foods with Paige on Thursday morning while Reese was at school. Unfortunately, I ended up spending my entire morning at the pediatrician and pharmacy with Paige instead. No big deal, Whole Foods became our post-nap excursion. I figured: there are tons of cool fruits and veggies we don't usually see, samples to taste, and a pumpkin display outside, this will be a fun trip!

Let me be clear, my children were perfectly behaved during this trip to Whole Foods. Paige rode in the cart and watched the world go by while barely uttering a sound. Reese rode in the large part of the cart, ate lentils as a sample, threw her trash away promptly, and was amazingly cooperative. Which makes my story even more frustrating and bizarre.

After sampling the aforementioned lentils we were approached by an elderly woman. She was dressed in a beautiful red linen shirt, had perfectly straight shoulder length white hair, and (oddly) was wearing her sunglasses indoors. When we rounded the corner she pulled her cart up next to mine and started cooing over the girls.

This is not strange behavior in itself--most times I take both girls somewhere people approach us and ask strange and forward questions: "How old are your girls?" is quickly followed by "How much do they weigh?" "What hospital were they born at?" I thought I had left the realm of strange encounters after the belly-molesting that comes with pregnancy, turns out it was only training.

Back to the lovely lady in the bulk foods aisle: She began by saying, "Oh my, your girls are so tiny. They are just like my grand daughters! My youngest is 2 and barely weighs 23lbs." Yes, I confirmed both of my girls are petite and always have been.

She continues, "They don't watch much TV do they?"
Umm...where is this going?
"No," I say, "I try to limit what they watch and how often."
"Oh, I can tell they are smart and don't watch too much TV because they look at me when I'm talking." Wow, what a nice observation. She then leans over and asks Reese if she watches TV.

Reese went into immediate stranger-danger-silent mode and stared her down. I interjected and said, "Reese really enjoys Sesame Street." The woman recoiled slightly at my response.
"Oh, I remember when that came on. I didn't let my kids watch it. Those characters are so sassy, particularly that Cookie Monster. Hmpf." And she walked off. I was a little stunned. Did I just get criticized for letting my kid watch Sesame Street? That educational puppet show on (gasp) PBS?! Bizarre. I move on.

Before hitting up the check out, we went trough the beer and wine section of the store so I could pick up a bottle of wine. When I put it in the cart Reese asked, "Mommy, what's that for?" I replied, "It's a bottle of wine I'm taking to Caroline's house tonight. I'm going over to her house after you go to sleep." Reese was perfectly content with my response. As I was rounding the corner heading to the check out aisle a woman waving a box of muffins approached me. She was old enough to be my mother, dressed in a coral and white blouse, unmarried (or at least wasn't wearing a ring), and I'd like to imagine that she doesn't have children--for their sake. "Can I ask you something?" she began. Assuming she wanted help reading the ingredient list ("Is this gluten free?" or something like that), I slowed my cart, smiled and said, "sure." She took a deep breath and right then I should have known where things were headed.
"Why did you tell your daughter that?"
What is she talking about? Should I just assume that she's been eavesdropping? "Excuse me?" I respond.
"Well, I just don't understand why you told your daughter you are leaving after she's in bed. I mean, she'll be in bed, why does she need to know?"
Red flags should have been waving, and when I replay this situation in my head Ally-McBeal-style, this is when I promptly tell her off and walk away. Instead, I answer, "I want her to know I'm leaving so that if she gets up and needs something she won't be surprised and upset that I'm gone."
Apparently this wasn't what she was looking for, "No, no, you're not understanding, " she continues, "Now she'll be upset no matter what because you've implanted the idea of your absence in her head."
Again, this is when a sane person would have let the curse words (or at least a tall finger) do their talking. I can only figure that shock kept me planted in my place.
Before even waiting for a response, she grabbed the edge of my cart and continued to explain the flaws in my parenting, "Kids don't need to know everything" was followed by the story of how she is convinced her niece's car sickness was caused by her brother's reminders to try to look out the front window and not to get sick. Eventually my shock and stupor subsided and through gritted teeth I told her "We do what works best for us, thanks."

After that experience I needed some time to clear my head so I made another loop around the nearby aisle and ran into my friend in the red blouse again.

Instead of shunning me and my Sesame Street junkie kids, she actually approached us AGAIN. I'm not kidding, I couldn't make this up if I tried.

Maybe she feared for my children's souls, because this time she began by asking me, "Do you, by any chance, own the Children's Picture Bible written by So-And-So?" (I forgot the name). Still a little shaken up from the psycho-analysis my muffin-toting friend I was probably a little short with her. "No we don't."

I could have told her we were Jewish, Muslim, or Baha'i, but at the time nothing but the truth occurred to me. She went on to tell me about what a wonderful book it was and that I should get it for my children. It was a nice sentiment, to be sure, but when I didn't gush about the opportunity to own this book and instead replied with, "Uh-huh, ok, thanks" she looked right at me, shook her head and with a quick, "Well-I-never!" stalked off again.

By the time I made it to my car I was literally vibrating with rage. Looking back it's funny: two old busy-bodies buying organic prunes and doling out child rearing advice. I've already got my comebacks lined up for my next encounter, so bring it on ladies.