Today, after what seemed like 3 hours of preparation to leave the house, (nursing, changing Mallory's diaper, making Bennett sit on the potty, getting both kids dressed, getting myself dressed, packing a snack, packing a sippy cup, grabbing extra underwear and shorts just in case, getting my grocery list ready, finding Bennett's shoes, forgetting Mallory's binky and going back inside to find it, buckling everyone in, realizing I can't find my Baby Bjorn, searching all over the house for said Baby Bjorn only to realize it has been in the trunk of the car the whole time, vowing I will never take both kids to the grocery store again... you know the drill) the kids and I headed off to Trader Joe's (the most magical place in the unverse).
It was just your typical Trader Joe's trip: Mallory in the Baby Bjorn, smiling at passers-by... Bennett asking to have a snack from the food samples, asking for chocolate milk, asking to see the "Moo Cow" sign over the dairy case, asking to look for the stuffed lemur they hide around the store for kids. It was during this last query that our story really begins...
Bennett: "Mama, where is dat monkey?" (He doesn't know it's really a lemur... I don't have the heart to tell him.)
Mama: (scanning the cheese section) "Hmmm... where did they move the provolone?"
Bennett: "Mama! I want to find dat monkey pweeeaaassseeee!!!"
Mama: (still looking for that evasive provolone) "I don't know where it is, Bennett. Let's look in a minute, okay?"
Bennett: (pointing) "Ask dat blue man over dere." (translation: blue man = man in a blue shirt)
At this point I look to where Bennett is pointing and see a woman in a blue shirt, definitely in ear shot of our conversation. What makes it really bad is that she does have kind of a masculine quality to her. I am mortified. Like an idiot, I try to fix it.
Mama: "Oh, do you mean that you want to find a man that works here and ask him? Hmmmm... I don't see him right now. Let's go look!"
Bennett: (pointing again) "No, Mama! Dat man right dere!"
The lady is listening now, aware that Bennett is pointing at her. She gives us a not-so-happy look and turns to leave.
And I don't say anything. I just stand there with a red face watching blue (wo)man walk away. Because when your two-year old tells a woman that she, in fact, looks like a man, there really isn't much you can do or say to make it better.