I'm a Snob...

...I never realized it before now and am quite shocked at the discovery.


Yesterday I was standing in the commissary when a lady in front of me turned to talk.

She had a tiiiiny baby in a carrier and a not-that-much-bigger toddler in the cart. She and toddler were wolfing down fruit snacks right out of the un-purchased box.
I thought about how tired she must be and was uncomfortably aware of her brightly dyed hair and dark roots looking a little unkempt.

Toddler was making all sorts of screeching noises for each fruit snack. Like a trained monkey, mom just rewarded the screeching with the bite-sized treasures.
She turned to me, laughed and said something like she "might be willing to give some kids away today".
I nodded to the baby and remarked on how little sleep she must be getting, to which she replied, "Oh, no. He sleeps through the night".

Oh dear. Older Mom-Alarm goes off. Newborns aren't really supposed to sleep through the night, they need food (don't agree? Wait until I start telling you to rub Vick's all over your feet to fight a cold).

That's when I noticed she was missing her front teeth and was wearing sweat pants. She animatedly began to tell me Husband & Baby stories. The highlight of her day was when Daddy and baby were asleep together in a chair and the diaper failed. She mock-shouted, "Get me a diaper wipe! I have poo all over me!" that led into a husband-doing-poopy-laundry story.

The louder her voice got, the more I began to squirm. I didn't know her. I didn't want anyone else to think she and I hung out and told baby-poop-on-Daddy stories over coffee.
I wanted to slip out of the queue but I was bound by ropes. Dang Commissary.
What if tacky was contagious and I couldn't extricate myself from the contamination?

And then something happened. It was as if a voice over the loud speaker (that only I could hear) said, "Hey, you're being a snobby jerk, knock it off".

So I did.

I looked her in the eyes, took a deep breath and smiled warmly. She offered Miss Ky some fruit snacks and let her dig her own germy little hand into the box. Her voice softened and I noticed she had perfect, porcelain skin and a very petite build.


This young mother with her young military husband plus two very young children--living overseas away from family-- probably has enough things to deal with on a daily basis. I imagine she doesn't have a lot of adult contact other than a brief chat in the queue of the commissary.

Considering the "Everybody Has a Story" view,

how often do we gesture from our cars,
scowl in the supermarket,
roll our eyes in the doctor's office,
sigh loudly behind a slow walking couple
and never take into consideration what is happening in our innocent targets' lives?

I'm sorry young mother. Thank you for not being prejudiced against a self-centered and slightly proud woman, because I apparently needed an experience that only you could give me.

Thank you for choosing to talk to me today.