I have a very politically incorrect sense of humour when it comes to my kids. I regularly tell Smallest Boy it is a good thing he is cute or he’d be up on Done Deal ages ago.
It was Saturday on the weekend they were due back to school after the mid-term break. We, my four boys and I, had spent every waking moment together for the previous seven days.
Usually we have swimming on Saturday but we had been the day before so energy and noise levels were high, having done nothing to burn it off.
I needed to pick up a couple of things in the supermarket. With my four slightly hyperactive boys. I admit to sitting in the car for a few moments before entering the supermarket. A few deep breaths later I braved it.
And in we went.
I make sure these supermarket trips are very very quick.
I grabbed the raspberries, cream and bread and approached the check-out.
With my four slightly hyperactive boys. All of them slip sliding on the floor.
I chose the queue with the least number of customers in it and stood in line. This is where the trouble usually escalates with my boys.
They’re not out of control or anything but there is a lot of high jinks. Sliding along the floor, climbing up onto the packing shelf and general boisterous horseplay. One of them usually derives great merriment from swinging the metal cage thing at the till, making it squeak and creak.
One of the five most annoying sounds in the world.
I spend this time hissing “sssstop” and “have mannersssssssss.”
Sometimes I notice other people smiling at them. Of course they could be gritting their teeth but usually they tell me “they’re grand” and “they’re only playing.”
But we are not in a playground. We are in a supermarket. There are people of varying ages and sizes using the aisles and I do not want one of my sliding boys to bowl into them and send them flying.
One of my worst nightmares. Can you imagine?
Anyway on this morning when my nerves were very much frayed and my head was very much fit to bursting with having spent so much time with them, I gathered up my purchases and stuffed my change back into my wallet.
I glanced over my shoulder at my skidding, sliding boys and the one who was selecting the supermarket leaflets and leaned in towards the male cashier.
“I don’t suppose,” I began, “that you have any electric cattle prods on sale, do you?”
My politically incorrect sense of humour in full flow.
He didn’t smile. Not even a tiny bit. Instead he put on a most serious look and touched his forefinger off his chin.
Was he thinking about it? I was joking!
Appears he was! “No, not at the moment.” He said. My smile was now stuck between frozen and starting again.
“But we have stuff coming in all the time. Maybe next week. Keep an eye out for the leaflet.”
“Ok. Em, grand. Thanks. Come on, lads. Let’s go.” I swept my raspberries, cream, bread and boys out of the shop and towards the car.
You heard it here first. Lidl might have electric cattle prods in next week. You’re welcome.