Tonight's Target Trip

My kid and I were in Target tonight-the one that employs the world's oldest crackwhore. We got in the express line and waited our turn. I had to carry Micah because he kept standing up in the cart and trying to climb out into my arms. The strap does not hold him. I tried very hard to manage my cart and squirming one-year old. Then he leaned over and spit up on the floor. The line had not moved. Being me, I was completely unprepared, carrying only my child, my keys, my wallet, and my phone. I didn't know what to do. I was embarrassed, and I thought the chances of trying to find someone with a mop were slim. Besides, I didn't want to lose my place in line. So I put my wallet and keys in the cart, kneeled down, and proceeded to try to wipe the brown milk and Cheerios baby vomit up with the knee of my jeans. It turns out that jeans aren't the most absorbent material. So I stretched the corner of my cotton t-shirt as far as it would go while precariously balancing my child. While I did all of this, two women, clearly well-off, and clearly well past the age where they would find themselves using the clothes they were wearing to wipe up their child's spit up off the floor of Target, cut in front of me. No "Excuse me," no "Are you in line?" Nothing. They just brazenly walked past my bright red cart, my tettering baby, and my vomit splattered self. I straightened up and adjusted my baby and the cart. The woman closest to me kept turning around and smiling at my kid. I spent the next five minutes thinking angry thoughts at the women for being so rude and so privileged and angry thoughts at myself for being too polite to stand up for myself and my child and our position in line. If they'd asked, "Are you in line?" I would have told them to go ahead. But they never even asked.
And if you were at Target tonight, around 6:40, I was the one on the floor wiping up spit up with my jeans.