© 2014 Aaron Atkinson

My My Nightmare

Laura and I are in a store called Buy Buy Baby. We’re about to register for some gifts for our soon-to-be bundle of joy. Standing there in that store, there is no joy. It’s just the opposite. This is my nightmare.

After we talk with a ‘registration consultant’ for fifteen minutes, we’re sufficiently bombarded to be bestowed with a pen, a long list of ‘you’ve got to buy buy this’s and that’s’, and the UPC-reading registration gun.

Me: A pen, a list and a scanner. Is this everything?

RC: I can get you a bottle of water if you’d like.

Me: Thanks, but no thanks. I will take a paper bag if you’ve got one.

RC: A bag to carry your purchases in?

Me: No. A bag to hyperventilate into.

She laughs. I don’t. It gets a little awkward.

RC: Okay then, good luck and bye-bye.

Or was it, buy-buy?

Pinch me.

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