Heather Has Two Mommies, a Bad Temper and the Swine Flu!

The first hint of crazy comes when the skinny blonde in blue jeans whips in past me at a dead run, gazes INTENTLY at the wall of bagged coffees, searching, searching, searching for something, I never knew what, because she never once opened her mouth to ask any of the four baristas cleaning or making coffee and then heaved a terrific sigh, dodged the hideous orange Starbucks Via display that I'm already sick of looking at and darted out.

I'm starting to compose a Tweet in honor of this particular bit of lunacy when she returns, pushing a very cranky looking child with a look on her face that would melt glass. Sour pickles had nothing on this child. She is one pissed-off first grader (or therebouts).

And Mummy Blondest is waving around a Starbucks gift card.

So. The drama unfolds, like the petals of a construction paper rose on a badly created Mother's Day present.

Mummy Blondest rolls out with a "Do you wanna juice?" in that sickeningly sweet voice people use when they talk to children and they know the kid is pissed off. Miss Priss shakes her head and crosses her arms and gives Mummy the gimlet eye. Please howl. Please. Make my night kiddo. Make my night.

"I wanna MILK!" This comes from Miss Priss with a certain amount of volcanic force, considering she's probably all of about 45 pounds and dressed in a pink jumper and what could very well be a Strawberry Shortcake sun hat. She looks all the world like a fat pink toadstool. And she's acting all the world like a fat pink toad.

"I WANNA MILK" she repeats, louder. And smacks Mummy Blondest on the side of the leg with a little balled up fist. Home training will get you everywhere lady. EV - ER - RE -WHERE. If I'd have ever behaved that way, I'd have gotten a beating right there in the store and another, worse one, when I got home. My grandmother DID. NOT. PLAY!


Instead of going out to find a switch, which my grandmother swears she did once on my recalcitrant uncle, Mummy Blondest returns to her cotton-candy voice and goes "Do you want a white milk or a chocolate milk?"

"WANNA WHITE MILK. WANNA WHITE MILK" No. You "wanna" smack on your tender bottom. Several smacks.

Mummy Blondest is getting agitated now, because she goes UP a decibel, if that is even possible, and squeaks out "I don't see a white milk honey. Whaddabouta chocolate milk?" Tony Soprano woulda been so proud.

The howler monkey picks up one of those over-priced and under-sized boxes of milk. And then Mummy Blondest pushes her toward the cash register, where the barista is staring down in mingled horror and fascinated delight. I'm just staring - period.

Mummy Blondest chides the tiny titan of terror to hand over her milk. "DON'T WANNA." "You need to pay for it," Mummy Blondest tells her, in a saccharine but mock firm tone. She grudgingly holds out the milk, although you can tell she really doesn't want to. I wonder if treats have been taken from her in the past?

The barista scans and gives a total. Now, Mummy Blondest give the gift card she's been holding and gives it to Miss Priss and tells her to "now pay the nice lady."

The transaction is concluded without the standard Starbucks Drama, although I half expected the child to demand "WHY?" she must pay.

Then, we get over to the condiment bar and the real fun starts.

Mummy Blondest is trying to put a full sized Starbucks straw into the carton for her. Tiny Terror is whining, wanting the milk. The box of milk just wants to go home to Bessie, because it never signed up for that whole pasteurization thing - which was totally whack, although the ride through all the tubes *was* nice.

Mummy Blondest finishes and hands the milk over and they leave, practically at a run. I think the fun is over and start to Tweet.

And back they come, for the first time.

Back to the condiment bar they go.

Back to the straw. Mummy Blondest grabs a straw and the box of milk, which sets up a HOWL to dwarf the other howls from the tot. "I WANT MY MILK."

"Just let me put a straw in it," says Mummy Blondest.

"DON'T WANNA BIG STRAW, WANT THIS STRAW. WANNA BROWN STRAW RIGHT NOW." Because the loud child is holding the tiny little straw that is packaged with the milk. Which is totally useless as far as actually getting milk out of the cartoon.

And she's also gripping the previous green Starbucks straw, which she proceeds to throw onto the ground. "I LOSE STRAWS." And she gives a sly grin, as if to say "I'll lose THAT straw if you make me take it."

"You won't lose this straw," Mummy Blondest says, with a whiff of resignation and determination, jamming it into the milk box and slinging it at her. "Here. Let's go." Finally, she's cranky too. Heck, I'd be cranky enough to do a Susan Smith and drive a car into a lake if I lived with that, although it is no fault but her o

I think the fun is over - and settle in to write. The only other thing that darkens the door for the next half-hour is the girl in the zebra-print tube top that strains to keep her "assets" caged and under control.  For they are magnificent. And then from somewhere she produces a black and white plaid shirt and throws that on over the tube top. The clash is ... violent. Titanic even. Exceedingly ugly. Stripes and plaids do not mix. Zebra and anything shouldn't mix - not even rice. :)

I'm about three-quarters of the way done with this little post when Howler of Doom rolls back in, complete with the milk box, but with a different mommy in tow. One who is apparently not quite as disinclined to discipline her. She gets another milk box and some cookies and nearly talks Mommy Brunettest into buying her a teddy bear, which is now permanently stained from whatever germs she was hacking into it.

The real drama in the second visit was this milk box. Remember the milk box? The one that had the Starbucks straw in it? It still had one.

Well, Tiny Terror decided it would be fun to start "hiding" the milk box in the display cases and then pushing bags of coffee around to cover it up.

Then, she starts hacking. Like, typical child hack, but she covers her mouth with her hands and then wipes her hands on the bags of coffee. NEVER TOUCH ANYTHING IN PUBLIC AT ANY TIME! Somewhere, at some point, a small child has put ick-germs on it. Or else a dog has licked it.


Then, the child takes out the straw and starts slinging milk around. WOULD YOU LIKE SOME SWINE FLU GERMS WITH YOUR COFFEE BEANS?

Mummy Brunettest sees this and squawks out "GIMME THAT." She grabs the straw, jams it back in and hollers out "Now drink your milk." But Mummy Brunettest still buys a frappuccino and ANOTHER box of milk for the child." I guess she's not lactose intolerant. Just behavior intolerant.

And now THEY are out the door. I'm dying to know. Does Heather have two mommies? I "stretched" my legs to the front of the store and, sure enough, there was Mummy Blondest, sipping on a coffee she must have bought earlier and with a pack of kiddie gear.

My money was on sisters or cousins - which could still have been the case - but who the heck knows these days. Either way, someone needed to blister the tiny titan of terror's backside.