Once upon a time, months ago, before COVID invaded the land and made going out amongst the people a rarity, my parents came to town for a visit. We went out for dinner one night while they were here, and on the way home, I asked to stop by Ulta to pick up some cosmetic necessities, as one does when one is near Ulta. This particular Ulta was in a fairly new shopping complex, and I noticed the Five Below that had been under construction was finally lit up and open for business.
“Oh! Let’s go in Five Below,” I suggested to the parents and the hubby. “I know someone who is a manager at Five Below, and I’ve never been in one.”
“C’mon! Doesn’t anyone want to go in and just look around?”
They each mumbled about feeling too full and wanting to get home and get into PJs or onto the couch.
So, being disappointed that I was out and about with a bunch of party poopers who didn’t even have enough energy to peruse one store, I headed into Ulta on my own and grabbed what I needed, not even taking the time to enjoy the cosmetic shopping experience since I had boring people waiting in the car.
After waiting in line at the checkout counter, I made my way out to the car, excited to tell them I’d found my very favorite mascara—the one I normally order online—and hoping they could muster even a bit of enthusiasm to share in my joy.
As I approached the front passenger door and reached to open it, I saw a Five Below bag sitting on the front seat. Outraged seems a strong word for this instance, so let’s just say I was strongly taken aback that after refusing to go in with me for a brief look around, someone in my most immediate family had opted to go in without me and make a purchase. Quite indignantly, I flung the door open and plopped down in the front seat, moving the Five Below bag while saying in an accusatory tone, “I can’t believe you guys went in Five Below without me! What did you buy?”
I glanced up at my husband, surprised to see a complete stranger in the driver’s seat—a stranger who looked equally surprised to see me! I quickly looked toward my parents in the back seat, but in their place sat a young boy of perhaps eight or nine years, his wide eyes and gaping mouth looking fearful as he began to talk loudly and quickly in Spanish.
The stranger in the front seat said something back just as it dawned on me that the interior of the car looked nothing like the one I’d arrived in.
I had just gotten in the wrong car and scared the hell out of this poor man and his child.
So I did the only thing I could. I exclaimed, “Sorry! Wrong car!” and quickly exited, leaving behind the Five Below bag, but luckily remembering to grab my Ulta bag from the front floorboard.
I don’t think I’d ever walked as fast as I did making my way from that silver car to the one two spaces down, which was luckily on the other side of a large truck which had prevented my party pooper family from the entertainment of seeing my mistake.
Would you believe I still haven’t been inside a Five Below?
What is the most embarrassing thing you’ve done lately?