Supermarket Meltdown

I'm posting this at the request of my sister-in-law. This was just a writing drill that I did for a contest (which I didn't win). I'll seldom post any of my fiction writing, but this isn't part of a greater work. It was just a stand-alone scene that I wrote to the prompt: Describe a situation in which a woman is forced to empty her purse.

This is one of only a few pieces of mine that Nathan has actually read. He raised an eyebrow and said, "Hits a little close to home, don't you think?"

"Well, of course, honey. That's why it's funny."

So, here it is for Esther. The Supermarket Meltdown:

We are going to be late. In my mind I see my son standing outside his elementary school telling the principal that Mom has somehow forgotten him. Everyone in the school’s office already looks at me with arched eyebrows and a judgmental set of the jaw. I’m pretty sure I’m the topic of critical gossip over coffee in the staff lounge.
My son is sitting in the cold two miles away, and the girl in the cart is wailing. She looks like her dad, and right now I’d like to sneak into another aisle and deny that I did, in fact, give birth to her. There’s another boy halfway up the aisle pulling boxes of cereal onto the floor. He does look like me—no chance of denying motherhood there.
“The Oooo!” the girl cries.
“I’ll find it,” I say. “Just be quiet, okay?”
She wails louder.
“Excuse me,” says a man over my shoulder.
“Yeah, sorry.” I scoot the cart out of the way so he can reach a box of granola bars. From my purse I empty a wad of receipts, a checkbook and two tampons into the cart next to the girl. I bite my tongue to stay a tide of profanity. I taste blood and remember my sister-in-law saying she read somewhere that multi-tasking can make you scatterbrained. “Isn’t that all motherhood is?” she’d mused.
By the time this child is in high school, she’ll be visiting me in an institution. “What put her over the edge?” people will ask.
“THE OOOO!”
“Put the cereal back!” I snap at the boy. Now I’m down to bobby pins, pink glitter Scrunchies, stray change, and a pen. “I can’t find it. We can find it in the car.”
“NO!” The screech is reaching hysteria.
I rip open another zipper, empty a few bills, credit cards and more random paper onto the seat of the cart. The girl grabs the credit cards and throws them over my head.
Blood or no blood, the words rush out, and they aren’t nearly as pretty as the girl’s hair, which I curled this morning. Frantically, I search the floor, gathering one card after another. How many was I carrying? Calling the boy over, I say, “Help me find the credit cards.”
He sticks a finger in his nose.
I find four cards, which I stuff into the pocket of my jeans along with the cash. I see a woman at the end of the aisle pause, watching our impromptu show. She has the same set of the jaw as the school secretary. She might be a completely wonderful person, but at the moment I hate her and her condescending face.
My fingers search frantically around the bottom of the purse as I move the cart out of the aisle. I don’t even remember what we came for, but I’m pretty sure it wasn’t the box of cereal or two bags of chips which are in the cart now. Milk. When all else fails, buy milk. I rush to the dairy section, still feeling around the bottom crevice of the purse. It’s there somewhere. It has to be!
Tossing a gallon of milk into the cart, I turn toward the front of the store. The boy is lagging behind. “C’mon!” I growl.
There are four people already in the express lane. I’m forced to bite that nasty tongue again. I steer in behind them and resume the search. “Here!” I exclaim, pulling the tiny pink shoe from the corner crevice of the fabric. “I found it!”
The girl’s expression brightens through salt-stained paths down her cheeks. “The oooo! Put it on!” She shoves a pocket princess doll in my face.
“Why don’t you go in front of me?” says the woman before us. “I’m not in any hurry.”
“Thank you.” School has now been out for six minutes. I slide around her and start tossing things on the conveyer belt. When I look up, princess in hand, I see salvation. Next to the boxes of gum, jerky and invisible tape is a ninety-nine cent tube of super glue. “Ring this up first,” I say to the cashier, then tear open the super glue. Under the watchful eyes of the girl in the cart, I turn the princess over and neatly line her feet with the clear miracle. Setting the shoes in place, I manage to smile. This princess is going to wear pink shoes forever.