I Blame the Salt

I threw a mini tantrum in the shampoo aisle of Walmart this weekend. My tantrum then extended from the shampoo aisle to the register where I vented to the poor woman who was just trying to do her job.

See, I hate buying water softener salt. I hate trying to remember to pay for it at the register, I hate lifting the heavy-ass bags from the skid into my cart, I hate lifting them from the cart into my bag. I hate it. I hate everything about it.

Guess what Tom wanted me to buy at Walmart this past weekend?

Shoes. And water softener salt.

The shoes are bad enough. But having to buy the damned salt pisses me right off.

I wonder if he’s forgotten that Walmart lets men shop. They let them buy crap.

No, he’s evidently forgotten.

So there I was, already annoyed because I was in Walmart on a Saturday afternoon and people in Walmart on a Saturday afternoon are insane. They’re insane and stupid, which means I’m usually raging by the time I get out of there.

We were in the shampoo aisle because apparently, Alyssa needs seven thousands bottles of shampoo in her shower at all times. And her hair is delicate and she needs to try new shampoos constantly to try and find the right combination of smoothing formula that won’t make her hair feel greasy. Ugh.

We were almost done but I’d suddenly remember that Tom had added to my list and I hadn’t read beyond the first item, which was size 11 wide shoes. Yes, he has me buy his shoes because he only ever wears black, size 11 wide shoes. My eyes were rolling right out of my head but I wasn’t stomping my foot…not yet.

I pulled the list out of my purse and read beyond the shoes.

Water softener salt, two bags, clean and protect.

I was instantly enraged. I hissed, “Water softener salt! I HATE buying softener salt.” Then, because I’m all mature and stuff, I stomped my foot. If I could have gotten away with it, I probably would have thrown myself to the floor and wailed.

I was so furious I could barely see straight. Olivia was in the middle of one of her never ending stories about Mush Mush and Katherine and some fingernail saga and I had to say, as calmly as I could muster, “Liv, I’m so mad right now, I can’t listen to your story.”

And guess what? She shut right up. I’m pretty sure she knew I wasn’t mad at her, but she seemed to sense my rage and decided the story could wait. There is always another Mush Mush and Katherine story.

When we got to the register, after going back to the shoes and selecting a pair of size 11 wide, the nice lady running register 7 greeted me and asked me how I was doing.

“Fine,” I said as pleasantly as I could. And before I could stop myself, I muttered to her, “I’m just mad at my husband because he wants me to buy water softener salt and I hate buying water softener salt.”

She started to pull out her salt cheat-sheet and I stopped her. “Oh, I don’t want to pay for it with this,” indicating the groceries on the belt. “No, it needs to go with those shoes at the end. Because heaven forbid he buy his own shoes.”

Yes, I said that. To a stranger. Poor lady. To her credit, she didn’t pause in the scanning of my groceries. Heck, she probably sped up just to bet me and my anger out of her space.

Once we were done with paying for both the groceries and the shoes and salt, I apologized to the cashier, “I’m so sorry for my attitude.”

She smiled and said, “It’s no problem, I think most of us women get it.”

I returned her smile and then headed off to heave the freaking salt into the extra cart Alyssa had fetched while I was checking out.

Lyss lifted one bag of salt into the cart and I got the other. When we got to the car, she offered to get them out of the cart but I was in total martyr mode and gently (seriously, I was gentle, I wasn’t mad at her!) suggested she just get in the car.

The entire drive home I fumed. I told myself that I actually hoped Tom wasn’t home so I could schlep the damned salt to the basement and fall and break my neck because that would sure teach him, wouldn’t it?

I know, I’m so very mature.

When we got home, he was there to he’s the one who dragged the salt from the car to the garage floor and then later took it to the basement. No broken neck for me, sigh.

He asked me how I was and I told him I was having a tough day. I was annoyed because people in town are stupid. I hadn’t mentioned the salt yet, but give me time, it was early in the day.

We put the groceries away and when I went to the bathroom, I noticed how hideous my hair looked. It was truly tragic. That pushed my mood from irritated all the way to maudlin. I was a wreck.

Tom asked again how I was. I told him I wasn’t very happy. I told him about my horrible hair, though why I needed to was beyond me, I mean, the man was looking right at me.

He said it was fine. He’s blind and maybe a little dim.

I told him it wasn’t fine, it was awful and while I know how lucky I am to even have hair, I reserve the right to hate it at times. And this was one of those times.

Then, in a moment of pure honestly, I admitted that part of the reason my day was so very awful was because I’d had to get softener salt.

To give him credit, Tom looked just enough abashed to make me feel better. I hadn’t wanted to say anything because I know I was being stupid and petty and immature. I didn’t care, I don’t want to EVER have to buy water softener salt again. He was going to his brother’s the very next day. He has to drive past all the places the sell salt on his way. He could have taken ten minutes out of his flipping day to buy the salt himself. I don’t care if I was already IN Walmart, I didn’t want to get the salt.

I ended up going to my room, turning on the fan, taking off my pants (TMI?) and laying down for about an hour and a half. I’d left my phone in the living room and closed the bedroom door. I dozed a bit but mostly, I rested, trying to reset my mood.

It helped a little, thought my hair continues to be horrendous. But I knew a little nap wasn’t going fix that. Time is what that’s going to take.

I don’t know if my little moodiness will get me out of buying softener salt ever again, but I can certainly hope. Maybe next time I should try using my words instead of stomping my foot in the shampoo aisle, though.

For what it’s worth, I did apologize to both Lyss and Liv for all the horrible things I said about their dad while in Walmart and in the car on the way home. And after I apologized for the words I’d said, I apologized for the things I was still thinking.

I like to think I’m a work in progress.