trauma at Wally World

Have you ever heard of the website People of Walmart?

This actually is partly what got me through the final days of my pregnancy with the Beans.  Seriously.  I had gone from having contractions at 32 weeks, been on modified bed rest at various stages, had a sciatic nerve that was trying to make me want to throw myself in front of a bus, it was hotter than hell I was bloated and I was now overdue.  It was depressing, but not as depressing as being featured on that site.  Like a bully on the playground, I took much joy from laughing at the expense of others.  Dark days, you do what you must.

So I don't go to Walmart often.  When and if I can avoid it, for both philosophical and sanitary reasons, I generally try to avoid it.

Yesterday was not one of these days.  Yesterday I needed worms.  Long story short, Meatball has a box turtle and she only eats live worms.  Like bait a hook nasty wriggly worms.  And Walmart sells those worms, cheaper than anywhere else.  Go figure.

So while at Walmart I was deeply traumatized.  Not by the lady wearing skin tight hot pink lace leggings with the physique of Nacho Libre; not by child who sat in the cart pretending to shoot everyone with what appeared to be an invisible high powered rifle with a scope he continually and very knowledgeably adjusted; not even by the old woman who was carrying a bottle of Jose and screaming -- and I do mean screaming -- at a man in his thirties using the Spanish words that I learned from my friends not my middle school Spanish teacher.  No, the trauma came from this.

Oh. My. Gawd.

I stood there stunned for a moment, trying to decide which part was the most deeply disturbing to me.  Was it the horrible blank smiley stare that Dora always has?  Was it that this felt more like a restraint than a safety device? Was it the horrible orange hands that have morphed into cup holders?  Or is it the fact that her head is wildly, disproportionately small for her body?

Coming to the conclusion that it was really not one of these things, but all of these things I snapped a picture to send to my husband with a message of "hey we should get this for Beans" just because messing with my husband is totally my favorite pass time.  Then we got out of there with a shudder, even Meatball was horrified and the Beans had stopped his amazing bat-shrieking and Spock-pinching for long enough to gawk in amazed horror at this mess.

So in case you were wondering, you too can strap your child into a car seat that has a pin-headed-Dora with oompa loompa cup holder hands and traumatize the hell out of not only them but every person who walks past your car.  Consider it an anti-theft device.  Who needs car alarms when you can have Dora?