I absolutely love my husband, he’s a great husband, father, & friend. Honestly though, in all my years, I’ve never come across anyone quite like him, not even close. By nature, he’s an anxious, intelligent, easily enraged, angrivated goofball with a heart of gold for those who can actually find the secret passageway into it’s depths. He’s fiercely protective of those he holds dear in his dark heart & is overly critical of strangers. Society, as a whole, disgusts him, amuses him, & annoys him. He’s easily offended when he’s in a mood, & lemme say, he’s always in a mood when he’s gotta deal with the public & it goes one of two ways: thoroughly pissy to the core or commentator for the live version of People of Wal-Mart & anywhere else Ryan travels that day. That is where we run into problems because, he has NO filter between his brain & his tongue, & if he thinks someone’s challenging him or treading too close to his personal bubble, he’s gonna let you know, or, if you’re making a fool of yourself, he’ll openly laugh right at you.
Taking my husband out shopping with me is like inviting the devil to come have dinner with the family. You just know something’s gonna go down- whether it be between us, between him & the kids, with a stranger, or just an attention-drawing tantrum of sorts, something is bound to happen that will make others think he’s an evil bastard of sorts. And he doesn’t give a single fuck what anyone thinks of him, either.So, ask me, why I continually make the mistake of allowing him out of the house with me when shopping is on the agenda? Oh yeah, that’s right. It’s because he’s got the wallet with the money! Not like I couldn’t just ask for money, but sometimes, I’ll admit, I just like having him along for the entertainment. His antics can be down right hilarious… if they’re not aimed directly at me, that is.
Just this week, the husband got this odd notion on his first vacation day off work, the day before Thanksgiving, to go out together to do some shopping along with our payday errands. The hopeless romantic that I am, thought this was just a lovely idea since his crazy work schedule rarely allows for us to do anything at a leisurely pace. So, I lied & told myself this time would be different, that we’d have a grand ol’ time acting like a normal married couple. With that, we were off to the thrift store in search of winter play clothes & gear for the kids because everything we had in basement storage was ruined with the flood back in August.
We had a couple quick stops to make along the way. There were a few inkling of clues that should’ve warned me that the thoroughly pissy to the core mood was about to rear it’s ugly head. But no, I ignored them with the optimistic hope that we’d credibly have a nice time at the end of it all. He was smiling as we got out of the car at the Salvation Army, so I started to forget about what could possibly go wrong & went in to with the notion I would enjoy myself for once.
When we shop at thrift stores, we always split up to conquer more ground quickly, looking closely for the hidden gems. What I’m really trying to say here is, that Ryan just takes off to do his own thing in peace while I juggle whatever kids were drug along, while searching through the gazillion racks of spewed rejection on hangers for diamonds in the rough in the right sizes. We only had The Dunce along with us, so it wasn’t too hard for me to get lost in the zone of rack demolishing frenzy. As I finished clearing out the boys section & about to begin the girls, I noticed a shoe display that was not there previously & my hunting eyes immediately squared off on a tiny pair of brand-new ballet shoes that looked to be Stinx’s size.
As I navigate my cart around to the shoes, I realize that my husband is looking at the coat racks right behind the shoes. My gut instinct was to quickly run away & disappear into the oblivion again, but our eyes locked & I knew it was too late, I had been spotted.
“Hey hun, come check this out. Whaddya think of this? Or that? Whatever, I’ll get both. Soooo, if I had get shoes which of these do you think would go with my jeans better? Did you find anything? Whose shoes are you thinking those would be for? Do you know what size Bean wears? So which of these shoes for the jeans?”
I wanna explode with angrivation as his mouth spews off a dozen questions faster than I can process & I struggle to keep up answering while checking sizes on first the ballet shoes that caught my eye, but the boots I saw next, too. I can feel his tension building, the anxiousness budding, but by then I was too busy staying focused that I didn’t pick up on it right away. Then, with fate’s cruel sense of timing, I get The Dunce chiming in behind me, as if he doesn’t even hear his father’s incessant chatter clear as day going on, asking me why none of the shoes he likes are his size. I’m trying to shush up the husband with satisfying responses all while explaining to The Dunce that we typically buy their shoes brand new because they won’t even last a whole month even then with the way he & his brother wear them out, so it would be best not to buy anything that isn’t for dress-up or snow play from a thrift shop. It was too much & I had more bargain hunting in order, so I slowly started to creep backwards away from the shoes, seeking an escape in the girls department.
Next thing I know, the hubs speaks over the distancing racks filled with other shoppers, mind you not, & begins bitching about my sudden departure when he wasn’t done deciding what he wanted to put in the cart. His grumbling was heard by all within a five foot radius around him. He marches over to me & starts saying he’s ready to go because I’m getting bitchy. I tell him to cool his jets because I’m not done yet & to go look around some more. He begrudgingly complies, but not without speaking loudly to be heard by me as he’s walking off about how he’s gonna “just leave the store if I’m gonna get an attitude with him because he wants my opinion on clothing.”.
I’m so used to our little head-butting spats that I just chuckled to myself & blew that shit right off. Dammit, I was downright thankful, because he’s really left the store before, forcing me to call him back in when I get to the checkout, usually leading to another spat over how much I spent at a stupid thrift store. So into my zone I went without a second glance his way, turning back to conceding with The Dunce that he cannot buy only Adidas warm-up jackets because he already has a few &, more importantly, isn’t Magic Mike, so he cannot go shirtless underneath them.
All of a sudden I hear my husband’s voice over the static hum of the shopping atmosphere,
“Just mind your own business, will you? She’s my wife, not yours.”.
Geebus Lice, Mother of all Bastards & Whores, why must I be hearing this? I was in my zone again! I thought the bomb had been dismantled, the threat of explosion diffused. Curiously I look up to see who my dearest husband could possibly be talking to, because it wasn’t me this time. Had someone actually dared to communicate with him, give him their opinion? Just more proof that stupid people have taken over the world.
My eyes narrow as I scan the tops of heads peeking out over the racks, looking for the familiarity of the husband’s dark silky hair with the swirly colic in the back like someone drew it on with a SpiroGraph stencil. I notice him as he’s walking away from an aisle, where an older, scuzzy looking guy was staring down the hubs while shaking his head, behind my husband’s back. Or so he had hoped, I’m sure. Just as Ryan got to my side, he caught sight of the dude outta the corner of his eye.
“Man, that old man keeps asking for it. Dude’s gonna get bitch slapped, knocked the fuck out.”
The heat of embarrassment starts to creep in as my brain scrambles all over itself, trying to find a way to quickly diffuse his budding anger & figure out exactly what in the hell happened with that guy to reignite his fuse. It’s like the hubs could read my mind, because after basically threatening the guy, he starts in on how we got to this point. “Dude thought he could give me his unsolicited advice on disrespecting women. Told me I was an ass for a husband!” I’m ssshh-ing because he’s talking at a regular volume & he rises on his toes to look more directly at the guy & says in a slightly louder voice, “You only think I’m being loud if I’m not whispering just because other people are in earshot,” which makes that guy look directly at my hubs again, & he finishes what he was saying with, “who cares if they mind their own business, unlike that guy over there with the face in about to mess the fuck up.”.
Of course he the says it’s time to go before he does something for real & we start bickering back & forth over whether we plan to come back during their Black Friday sale, or not, since I never did make it to the little girls section. Then we bickered like the chidren, all the way to the check out over whether or not I got enough stuff for now & how long it takes me to find anything when we shop, especially when he only wanted to grab a sweater for himself when he suggested we come shop for winter gear for the kids. Apparently, I should be able to sort out the hidden messages he disguises in irrelevant suggestions. It’ll make another great skill added to my housewife resumée.
Back in the car again, the hubs starts making fun of that guy who wanted to put his two cents in. With the change in atmosphere, from the claustrophobic entrapment of the store to the freeing openness & fresh air outside, came an instant mood change. Thoroughly pissy left himself inside the building & commentator for the live version of People of Wal-Mart & anywhere else Ryan travels that day has arrived to take his place. Just in time to head for the grocery store, coincidentally enough.
Perfectly timed transition it was, too, because we’re not even out of the produce section when we hear a commotion from the front of the store. Instead of grumbling & grunting, he’s like a fifteen year old boy, nosy about what’s going on. I follow him as he follows the noise. We are met with the sight of two young cashiers losing their shit on each other, inches away from each other’s faces, spit flying as they scream obscenities that are incoherent. The husband is all geeked over this cat fight about to go down when the manager finally steps in to break it up. I pull the hubs away to go back to our purpose for being in the crowded grocery store on thanksgiving eve & he starts excitedly replaying the whole scenario in true commentator fashion.
“Did you see that bitch step up in the other’s pock-marked face? She was asking to get knocked out. If that was two men, she’d be out cold on the floor. That nasty girl looked like she sucks dick for crack on her days off, why would this place have her working here anyways? Did you notice the fat one had more rolls than you’re making for our feast tomorrow? I would’ve paid to see em throw a few punches. My money would’ve been on thunder thighs, cuz if crack whore fell first, she’d be crushed under the weight.”
This continued up & down three aisles of canned vegetables, pasta, & cereal before his ears pricked up like my dog picking up the sound of her mortal enemy- the mail-lady, coming down the street four houses away. He grabs my hand & pulls me towards the frozen foods. Sure enough, there’s Thunder Thighs going at it with the manager because the nice guy that he was thought his employees could be mature enough to go back to work in seperated areas. Hubs is all giddy again like he’s 5years old & just saw Santa come down the chimney. For the next fifteen minutes, we giggled like little girls, yes the hubs really giggled but it sounded more like a muffled frog in the throat clearing than a giggle, as we spied on the continuing dramatics between employee & manager. She was all worked up screaming “I told y’all on my app that I had anger problems. Y’all ain’t handling me right for my anger problems!”
Eventually, the manager got so fed up with her anger problems that he tried firing her. I said tried, because, this bitch was not going anywhere. We were in the checkout ourselves at this point, watching the poor man attempt to gather her belongings & steer her towards the door, but she was using the weight advantage to hold still while throwing her belongings back into the office area. I’ve never seen someone so damn stubborn before just banking on the excuse of unhandled anger problems. It took all I had not to scream at her myself, “Bitch, listen up! Get a hold of those big girl panties, pull them up your ass, & shut your fucking mouth. Just go back to work & LET IT GO, LET IT GO, LET IT GO! You’re damn lucky you weren’t fired immediately after the initial altercation, so give the man some respect & grow the fuck up.”
As I finished these thoughts in my head, my ears heard them being spoken…. by my husband. Oh yeah, he went & opened his mouth! He directed his speech towards our cashier, as if anyone witnessing this ostentatious spectacle needed to be schooled on what could’ve been done differently! Thankfully our cashier had a sense of humor & laughed right along with us as he ranted about how “that girl need to crack the whip on her own self,” & “someone’s mama unhandled her anger alright,” in his just loud enough banter to be heard all around, even the one he’s talking about. Just to throw the obvious out there, he also pointed out that “she ain’t going anywhere in her life besides court-ordered anger management if she don’t handle her own business soon,” as we were walking towards the doors after paying.
Shopping with this guy ain’t no joke! How we manage to make it home without killing each other, killing someone else, or being killed by someone else. It’s a source of power that he mysteriously holds that allows him the ability to just give zero fucks at all, not a tenth of a tenth of a tenth of a fuck. Part of me envies this magnificent, emotionally sturdy & stable mind that enables this ZFG superpower of his, but part of me pities that daunting power, for it’s too much for most to handle, very few are brave enough to get too close. I did. I did & I stayed the course, happily, because there’s so much more to this man that’s loveable.
Now here I am, going shopping with this ZFG superhero, making scenes & causing commotion wherever we go. Thirty-two years ago, the stars on my birth fated this course into my own real-life Comic Strip with the love of my life, my partner in crime, & I couldn’t want anything more than thoroughly pissy to the core & people of Wal-Mart commentator.
Sunday Confession– Power
Thank you to More Than Cheese and Beer for another great opportunity to link up my blog! If you want to see more of my daily crazy, follow me at The Daily Rantings of an Angrivated Mom.
One thought on “Shopping With The ZFG Superhero”
I could feel every moment of fine tuned tension on the very last nerve you had that day. I love how you wrote so descriptively that I feel like I was there. Blessings to you and your super hero. ❤️