Thursdays are NOT my days

I really tempted fate by titling my last post "Practicing Patience." Maybe I was guilty of perpetuating the stereotype of a serene, pregnant lady patiently rocking herself awaiting word from the bundle of joy within. As punishment for the smugness, karma today has me hyped on hormones, sore in the belly and out in public. Beware the waddling woman making her way down the store aisles.

I just wanted to return a notebook that I bought. I am searching for a good baby book and I wanted something that didn't scream: I'm a baby book. I wanted something tasteful that allowed me to write whatever I wanted. I thought I had an ok candidate, but I changed my mind - see hormones. I went to exchange it and the sales lady at the stationary store told me no. They don't take returns after 7 days of purchase. This notebook was wrapped in plastic, in the bag, with the receipt. Sorry she said, with no trace of actual sorrow in her voice. It's just our policy.

Well, she was soon informed that it was a ridiculous policy. And the point of all of this isn't that I'm right and this stationary store is wrong. It's that I'm pregnant and tired with the temper control of a rabid bulldog and these people aren't. After a 15 minute call to the store manager (after leaving), I am assured that she will make an exception for me and return this stupid notebook because I'm angry. This does not assuage the anger the way you would expect.

Now, I'm thinking of sending Andrew back with the notebook, because I am not overly eager to walk back in playing the role of pregnant diva. It should be said, this store has given me consistently lousy customer service in the past and its college-age girls are always more interested in talking to one another than doing their job. I have often felt that perhaps I should be dressed nicer or trendier to better suit their tastes while shopping there. I proceed to tell the manager, about the several experiences I've had with her sales team and I'm even able to recall their various conversation topics on previous visits as I looked for help. She says, "Well, it sounds like you've got two separate issues." Lady, I've got more separate issues than you'd care to know, but you've got one store and I'm never giving you my business again. "Can you drive back to the store today?" she asks. It was not in anyone's best interest to send me there again today.

So I continued on to the grocery store. I behaved myself quite admirably and waddled all around collecting groceries. Each item into the basket had me feeling like more and more of a cliche. Yes I am buying two jars of pickles; they are different flavors. Yes, I am riffling through a giant mountain of chocolates that is on sale. I like chocolates. I like them better on sale. And yes, I did just purchase my limit on frozen pizzas because they are delicious and they are a third of their normal price. I was ready to take on anyone that had a problem with this. Anyone?

And then disaster struck. My favorite brand of chips was not in stock. DISCLAIMER: the rest of my purchases were fruit and vegetables and yogurts and other foods that a pregnant person should be eating - but I have been craving sweet and salty all week. But the chips! These are not just any chips. They are Miss Vickie's Honey and Roasted Garlic Potato Chips. They are not a pregnancy craving. They are unequivocally the most delicious chips you will ever eat. When you eat these chips, you do not care that your breath will drive others away. Driving others away is a serious benefit, because then you will not have to share your chips with them. Wise people who know better than to leave the presence of greatness have joined me in confirming that these are, in fact, amazing chips. So given this self-evident truth, why is my grocery store no longer carrying them?

Heads may roll before this new mission is through. I really want to be a nice and agreeable pregnant lady. I realize that this is entirely irrational and that I'm potentially not in the right here.

However, my pregnant brain is gnashing her teeth and howling, "How much injustice can a person handle in one day? I have given up so much: beer, wine, sushi, wine, coffee, ahi tuna, sleeping, seeing my toes, retrieving things from the floor, for the love, please don't take away my chips too! "

NOTE: I phoned to warn Andrew his house was not safe and his wife was not sane (no one can say I'm not fair to him). He then did not return home until 7:30 this evening. He was not drinking at the bar to avoid me. Bless him, he was canvassing the neighbourhood in search of the chips. He returned home unsuccessful -where are these chips?, but he brought more chocolate. He just may turn out to be a man who is prepared for a daughter.