Went out shopping today for PJ's birthday party and at one point, I told the husband I was going to return some hats that were gifted to Lincoln that don't fit. He's so sweet, and he says what he says all the time: No, don't go. Stay here. Or: Come home soon, OK? Almost always, I acquiesce. If it's important to him, why not?
Not today. Today I was all tough guy and all: It's OK, I'll be right back. Just going up to Old Navy. I'll be right back. I promise. I kissed his neck and went off on my side mission: Return hats, join husband.
So, I'm in the store and I remember we need shoes for the girls. And socks. And a bathing suit for me (this we *really, really* need). I'm focused. I hunt AND I gather. And I get on line. That's when it starts, internet-people! MY VERY FIRST PANIC ATTACK.
There were two women in front of me on line and a guy behind me... The woman checking out first had a fucking mountain of shit to pay for. I couldn't fathom it. And the woman right in front of me was rifling through receipts in one hand, and clutching a wrinkled shirt in the other.
I started to shake. My pulse went up and it was all I could do not to start bawling on the spot. I also couldn't move from where I was standing. Bitch was glued to the floor. And I'm such a fucking geek; I recognized right away what was happening and I STILL COULDN'T DO ANYTHING ABOUT IT. The tears were coming, fast... I turned my head to the dude behind me as I placed all of my stuff on the shelf where the keep all those hip dog toys at Old Navy, know where I'm talking about? So, I put my stuff there and say to the poor guy: I'm sorry! I have to go! Like. He. Cared. And I pretty much ran out and started texting my husband to find out exactly where he was.
When I found him, the tears were at the gate... but he was there and he was sweet. And he was there and I didn't cry. This time.