Woman in Pink Buying Diapers for All the Babies Everywhere

Yesterday I was leaving Target, you know, that upscale store that everyone loves? And this lady paused to let me exit before her. She was pushing a cart with about a thousand boxes of diapers in it, and even carrying a couple in her arms. So I let her go in front of me. All I was carrying was Corbet and one bag of shirts.

The first thing I noticed about her, besides the gazillion diapers, was how done up she was. She had on shiny pink high heels. And I mean, HIGH, high heels. Like stilts. Just seeing them I tipped over. She had extremely blonde hair, a very perfect tan, and her outfit was pink and black and it matched her shoes perfectly. She was also in a tiny skirt of some kind. It eludes me right now, but it most likely went very well with her heels and her top.

Normally I'd scoff at the value of this type of woman. I'd think to myself, "Lady, you are one done up girl." And I'd consider her vacuous, vapid, and a series of other adjectives that either begin with a V or are synonymous with the other words I've already used to describe her.

I know! This is a real confession. Because I try to be decent. And I guess you could say that I've always thought being decent meant not being like women who pay extreme amounts of attention to looking like a trillion bucks at all times. You know, waxing, tanning, dyeing, spending exorbitant amounts of money on a wardrobe, botox, and face-lifts.

More than that, I thought I was a kind person even though secretly I'd see a woman like her and feel superior in some way because I know that what matters most is what's inside. That a person's heart is more important than what they look like. And a woman like that doesn't get that, obviously, otherwise she wouldn't feel like she had to invest so much in her appearance.

That's what I thought, I guess.

Stuff like that.

It's completely hysterical that I thought things like this, all while finding myself at ease with judging someone based purely on how they looked. It's easy to see someone who looks like crap and feel a tugging at your heart that lets you think, "Awww, bless their heart, bless them, they're unfortunate. Bless them to have lots of good things happen." Or whatever.

It's harder to look at a person who looks good or beautiful, or like they care a lot about how they appear, and think, "Awww, bless their heart. Bless them." Because you're thinking, instead, "Ridiculous. They're putting too much emphasis on what they look like. How disappointing."

Anyway, so I learned my lesson at Target. This woman had a bazillion diapers.

I said to her, "That's a lot of diapers!" Just to be conversational.

She said, in a really sweet, polite voice (I might add), "Did you see that thing on the news yesterday?"

"No, what thing?"

"About the crisis shelter? Yeah, it was so sad. They don't have any diapers. They said the babies that show up there, end up leaving with the same diaper they arrived in because the shelter can't afford more diapers. It broke my heart. Those poor kids. I had to run out and buy some diapers for them. I just can't stand the thought of them being stuck in the same diaper like that."

She explained all of this as we walked out into the parking lot, while she tried to push a cartload of a billion boxes of diapers. 

I offered to help her carry them. I didn't see the thing on the news about the shelter. We talked about diaper brands for a minute, and I let her know what a sweetheart she is (like she needed that validation, right?), and off she went into the sunset.

So, how could I not tear up a little when I realized what a jerk I have been? I will never judge another woman who looks like she cares about her appearance a lot. What do I even know about it? Chances are, all that makeup and glam is concealing a heart as big as the moon, and a desire to love and be loved as wide as the ocean.

She restored my hope in humankind. So thank you for teaching me that lesson, woman in pink, whoever you are, wherever you are. I love your pink and high-heeled guts to pieces.

What Good Are Pockets if They Don't Hold Anything?

Stoker and I have it worked out where each of us gets ten dollars a week to spend however we want. We both typically use it to buy a drink here or there, or some lunch (and by drink I mean non-alcoholic beverages). Stoker gets the money out of our account when he deposits his check because my check is direct-deposited. This morning he gave me my ten dollars, which was seven this time because last night I spent some of it on a one dollar sundae and some fries from McDonald's.

I put the money in my back pocket, as I'm wont to do and have done since childhood. These days I try to take better care of my money and often put it in my humongous wallet. But we were saying goodbye to each other and I was standing there with the car door open, about to leave for work. I didn't have time to do the responsible thing and put it in my wallet.

But see, I have on these damn corduroys I got at J.Crew. They have been a problem before. Countless times strangers have come up to me and said, "Excuse me, you're about to lose some money." At first I think they're being aggressive, maybe they're going to ask me for a ride or some money. But then they tell me I'm about to lose my money. And not because they're going to steal it.

So the problem, which I never really explained, is that these pockets suck. They don't hold onto anything. Receipts, paper, paper money, you name it. If I put it in, the money falls out. Once I lost a wad of money at Best Buy. I was so distraught. I called Best Buy on the chance someone had turned it in. They had! My hope for humanity was saved! I really couldn't believe it. It killed me that someone had turned in the money.

Today I was excited about lunch. I was going to go find a bagel shop and have a bagel sandwich. I love bagel sandwiches and it frustrates me that there's no Einstein's in Nashville. Because in addition to great sandwiches, they have the best pickles. And I love pickles (in case you're wondering, the second best place to get pickles is the White Owl, in Logan UT. They make them with jalapeños and they're delicious). Before I drove off in search of a bagel shop, I checked all my pockets, couldn't find the money, and then remembered that I hadn't moved the money from my pocket to my wallet! The money was gone and I cursed up a storm.

So, instead of a bagel for lunch, I got a preservative laden, sugar laden, very unhealthy cheese Danish at the gas station. Why? Because I was depressed that I'd lost the money. I know, I know. It's also unhealthy to indulge in unhealthy food when you're sad. You shouldn't do that. Do as I say, not as I do, and don't copy me.

I looked everywhere for the money. I returned to work and checked the bathrooms. For all I know, I'd flushed the money at some point without realizing it. Literally, 'money down the drain.' I decided to email the entire company about the lost money. I just knew the money was out there somewhere, trying to find its way back to me. But I had to go through the proper channels. I emailed the lady in charge of mass communication. I told her that I'd lost my weekly allowance and asked her if she could just send out a quick email to the entire company about it.

Then she called me. She said that she hadn't done her good deed for the day and the Lord has been kind to her, so she was going to leave the money for me underneath her keyboard. She was about to go to a meeting and she wanted me to go up there and pick it up while she was gone. She, herself, has always tried to live within a budget, she can respect that about me, and wanted to help out.

A part of me felt so stupid for making such a big deal about a trifle. It was seven dollars, after all. But when you make so little, seven dollars that you've allotted yourself seems like a lot. On the other hand, everything I make goes to me and Stoker, so it's not like we're neglected.

Really, it's the principle that matters. It's so stupid to lose your money. I mean to literally lose some physical cash. I bet you fifty thousand dollars that my mom hasn't lost a cent in twenty years. I mean, literally, literally misplaced it, or dropped it somewhere, or flushed it down the toilet. It's just not respectable to lose your money.

A part of me didn't want to take the lady's money. But I always tell people that part of helping others is accepting return kindness. I know it sounds stupid and probably selfish, but it's true. I think it's also a show of character to be able to accept it graciously. This is a subject I could discuss more, but the point is, it was difficult to swallow my pride regarding the money.

I went up to her office and found the money where she said she'd leave it. I felt like a thief and worried that if someone looked through the window of the door, they'd see me rooting around her desk while she wasn't there and turn me in to security. It was probably one of the strangest feelings I've ever had. At the same time, it made me think a lot about human kindness. Have you ever thought about how we're all we have? That if all people stopped being kind, there'd be no one left to be kind? I mean, Mother Nature isn't kind. Animals are not usually kind (though some will argue with this). Yes, God is kind, but God works through people, and that's why if each of us decided to stop being kind, there'd be no hope left.

It felt like this woman whom I have never met, wanted the kindness to be sort of faceless, to be a secret. I understand that. I still told her thanks in an email and told her that I try to be kind but sometimes I get hurried and impatient and sometimes I forget that there are hearts behind the faces. And I told her that her act made me feel better, not about the money but about humanity, and that I'll return the favor in the future, to someone else.

In the meantime, I plan to stitch up the back pockets of these stupid J.Crew pants and then I plan to sue J.Crew for damages*.






*I wonder who I can get to represent me. Does anyone know a lawyer who understands the importance of pants?