I understand the risk vs. rewards when stepping into a Superstore. A lot of sh-t in one place vs a lot of sh-tty people in one place. I once had an amazing (backed up by friends who love me) drunken rant about why I would never again shop anywhere I had to bag my own groceries. (When faced with a conveyor belt full of groceries and 10 plastic bags my brain and hands become detached and it ends with me drenched in sweat, an egg in each bag and me on my hands and knees begging to the Gods what to do with the f-cking cucumbers.)

On Monday I caved. I have a hard-on for the clothing line Joe and they have an impressive gluten free selection. So, I'm in the produce section. It's a f-cking nightmare. Despite just this one department being the size of a city block, the store in it's infinite wisdom has plopped palettes of extra boxed produce in the middle of every aisle. So your carts cannot fit down the aisle. Instead of me pulling the smart move - muttering "ohferf-ckssake" and leaving immediately, I took a deep breath and internally cued the beginning notes of "Let's Get Physical." I moved my 3-tiered behemoth of a grocery cart sideways, perpendicular and dead lifted it straight above my head at one point.

And then the apple aisle. I flattened myself up against a wobbling mountain of Red Delicious, and steamrolled the cart over my goddamn foot just to get out of the way of a Dad and his son trolling through, and got nary a f-cking nod of appreciation. I would have passive-aggressive'd his ass with a curt "you're welcome" (my favourite tool in my toolbox) if I thought he would have heard me. He wouldn't. Because he was wearing headphones. While shopping with his young son.

Sir, if you hate shopping with your kid so very much, to the point where you pull a 16 year old move of "listening to your tunes while hanging with peeps" (in this case the peep being the child your penis created), um, maybe leave him at home? Or are you a single Dad? Ok, but I've read in EVERY PARENTING MANUAL EVER that kids don't really like to be ignored that obviously. I suppose that's why the kid had like 6 cookies in his hands, mouth and collar. They're optimal for keep the choking cries of abandonment from rising too far up his throat. At least when he gets dragged out of the store into an idling molest van you won't have to hear his yelps echoing in your sleep. You were far too engrossed in the new Flo Rida album.

And in other amazingly bad parent news - I took Stella for a walk outside in Fairview the other night so she could see nature (our hood is a concrete jungle held together by brick, the cries of the homeless and animal urine), and while she was being all cute and sh-t, I took a few pictures. Like this one.

(She was enamored with this manhole cover. Sticking her little fingers in all the slots while I shuddered at her surely now gross little nails.) I switched to video mode to capture her talking to the bicyclists whizzing by. Then she crouched down again for a few seconds. The look crossed her face, just for a brief flash. If you have a kid, you know the look. Or if you sh-t in front of a mirror, you know the look.

So, game on Stella. I'm going to store this unintentional goldmine of footage in a safe place. Come 15 years from now if you feel like being super lame and forget that I am the best person you know, guess what video will be cued up for your buddies to watch? Or, if pushed hard enough, I will rent a video billboard. I love you more than my heart even understands, but one day I will have no problem making you famous for sh-tting on the street.