Dying a Slow Death at Target

I'm almost used to it. I can pretty much count on having to endure at least one incident of excruciating embarrassment when braving the world with my daughters. Vida once chastised another mother for allowing her daughter to drink soda. "Um, excuse me," she said, "she shouldn't be drinking Pepsi. That's a grown-up drink." The funny part was that the mom then attempted to explain why her daughter was drinking soda. I tried to pretend I didn't even know Vida, but then she turned to me and said, "Right, Mom?" Hi-ya.

Then there was Risa at the doctor's office. Our regular guy was, who knows, skiing in Aspen or something. So in walks a different tall and smiling doctor. He sits down on the little stool in front of us, and Risa says, "Hey, your head isn't round!"

Imagine the silence.

Imagine the pointy-headed doctor's horror.

Imagine my dismay.

Imagine Risa, oblivious.

But that's a distant memory now because of what happened yesterday at Target. There we were, Lea and I, sitting in the little food place. She was daintily extracting chocolate chips from her cookie and shoving them in her mouth. I was watching her; she's better than television. And then a man walked by on his way to order up a bunch of tacos. He was short. Pear-shaped. Big. With a large face. He wore an expression of permanent sadness. His Marshall's employee pin (he must have been on his first 20-minute break of the day) was, for some reason, way up high on his shoulder and violently askew. Have you ever seen someone and just wanted to, you know, cook soup for them and make sure they were okay? That is how I felt about this gentleman.

Later, when he was downing his Taco Bell bounty, Lea swiveled around in her chair. She caught his eye; he smiled faintly. Lea played her 2-year-old game, looking away and looking back to see if he was still caught in her flirty toddler trap. He was. I said, "Can you say 'hello?' She did. And then. And then. And then she said—in a voice louder than a bullhorn—"Mama, is that Shrek?"

Why don't they have a button you can push to make yourself invisible? Why has someone not invented that?

My only consolation—and it's iffy to say the least—is that maybe he couldn't understand what she was saying. After all, it did sound like, "Mama, ees dat Shaw Reck?" And he did continue smiling, as opposed to bursting into tears and running out of the store. But even if he didn't understand at the time, could it be that halfway back to his job (which I'm convinced is miserable and underpaid) at Marshall's it suddenly became clear to him that she thought he was Shrek?

I have a headache.