Remember two days ago when I wrote about The
Toilet Paper Mystery?
Well, I decided to take my oldest girls to the dollar store. I told them they could both buy one item, any item. That's the beauty of the dollar store; it makes everyone seem rich.
"Any one thing?" The Hippie asked.
"Wow, Mom," she said. "Thanks."
I felt better than Donald Trump! I'd given them their choice of the entire store. We strutted around that place like we owned every made-in-Taiwan item. I suddenly knew what Heaven feels like--cheap toys and easy dreams. That's how much I love the dollar store.
Anyway, I thought for sure, both my girls would pick batons.
The Scribe went straight for the gag gifts (shocker I know, since she once put fake cat poop on her teacher's chair). But I gave her "the eye" and she bought the baton of her dreams instead.
That's when The Hippie surprised me. She didn't even go to the toy aisle. She went some place completely different.
Now, I know you've heard about her before, but let me tell you again, The Hippie is hilarious. She's not like The Scribe though; she doesn't want to be funny. She's very serious. When she asked, "Who made God," she was serious. When she told me, "I found eternal life, Mommy," she was serious. That six-year-old is hysterical. She has white-blond hair (that hangs down to her waist), bright blue eyes and the sweetest little personality.
So, when she wouldn't even go near the toy aisle, I got curious. "What are you looking for?" I asked.
"You'll see," she said. "It's very important that I find this, very important. And if I tell you what it is, I might jinx things and then I'll never find it."
I followed her around. Maybe she searched for gum, candy, those little glass figurines. The Scribe danced behind us and spun her baton so she kept "accidentally" hitting both The Hippie and me.
"Be careful with that thing," I told The Scribe and she just smirked like Tom Sawyer.
We continued looking, walking all around the store, until we came upon the last aisle and The Hippie screamed with excitement. "I found it! I knew if I didn't tell you, they'd have it!"
She hugged something to her chest and blond hair covered the item. I couldn't see a thing, and nearly died at this point, wanting to know what she'd picked. When a child gets that excited, it isn't good. They've either found a puppy, a fish or a tarantula to bring home, something to make their mother's life terribly hard.
I swept her hair from the item. I gaped and my mouth fell open.
"Of all the things in this store . . . of all the items and you want a big bottle of . . . hand sanitizer?"
She nodded vigorously, so happy with her find. "I just knew they'd have it."
We went to the checkout, and things got completely out of control. There's an eighteen-year-old who works there. He's covered in acne like he's starting a acne farm. I wouldn't make fun of him except that he's rude. He glared at us as we happily bought our items.
"Hell-o," he said in a monotone only pimple-lovers can use. "Welcome to the dollar store, where all your dreams come true. Did you find everything you needed today." It wasn't a question. No inflection laced his voice!
The Hippie squealed. "Yes," she said. "I found hand sanitizer! My mom said I could get one thing, and that's what I got."
He looked at me with concern. He never cared about anything, yet now he worried?
I paid for my stuff and just as we were about to leave, that kid called me back to talk to him.
"Your daughter has a serious problem," he said. "Have you heard of OCD?" he asked, and I nodded. "Well, she has it, and it's best to deal with these things now."
"She's only six, and she just likes being clean. I swear she doesn't have problems." I gave him a huge spiel, actually felt pretty good about it until I turned around and saw The Hippie smothering herself in sanitizer!
"Your call," Pimple Boy said. "But if I were you, I'd make sure she doesn't have OCD. Some people with OCD, are criminals waiting to happen. I've seen it on that show 'Bones'."
"Well, Mr. Expert. What do you think I should do?" I asked.
"If I were you, I'd take her down the toy aisle and make her pick a kid thing! That's what I'd do. I hate the smell of hand sanitizer anyway."
And from the look of it, he probably hates soap too! I asked The Hippie, if I could have some hand sanitizer, right in front of that nosy kid and I rubbed it all over my hands and arms.
"There's nothing wrong with my kid," I said.
"Suit yourself," he said. "I was just trying to help."
Since when did he want to help? That guy had never even tried being nice before. Maybe all the pressure from his zits, was finally going to his brain.
So, I think The Hippie's just going through a phase, an incredibly, cute phase. Plus, people with OCD are not destined for a life of crime. I never want to watch the show "Bones" now!
But maybe The Hippie does have a touch of OCD. Isn't that normal in our day and age though? With hand sanitizer and bacterial wipes everywhere.
What do you think? Am I being blind? Should I look into this?