I was online window shopping last night and found what may possibly be the most retarded (yeah, I said retarded) product ever.  I was on www.onestepahead.com  searching for potty training stuff, since I’m hoping to have Andrew out of diapers sometime between now and when he starts dating, and Kim had told me about a toddler urinal, so I looked it up ’cause I only know about girl stuff.  I thought the toddler urinal (yes, you can wall-mount it) was the dumbest thing I’d seen, but, no — it gets better.  I Googled potty training and hit on a site which will remain nameless because  no one should buy this product.  It’s the potty for your little gambler-in-training.  Let’s take a look.

Oh, yes, it’s a slot-potty!  For those who want to bring a little Vegas into the bathroom,  just pull the one-armed bandit and see what comes out if you win!   Everyone’s a winner!  My only regret in finding this little gem is that I didn’t get to give this as a gift to all friend’s 2 year-olds.  I might have to send it to an old friend who’s boy just turned 2.  Nothing says Happy Belated Birthday like a slot machine potty.  I’m pretty sure Brad Pitt has this in his kids’ bathroom to remind him of his times filming the Ocean’s series of fine films.   I just realized the only thing that could make this item better is if it came with a roll of dollar-bill-on-a-roll toliet paper.  Now that’s a quality product, there.  I think the slot potty, money tp, an Elvis ’68 comeback special cd, and a roll of quarters as potty-training incentive would be the best gift ever.  Oh, and free watered-down drinks served mom in a coctail waitress uniform. 

So, 2 Fridays a month for I don’t know, 2 years, a few of us moms and kids have been going to Chick-Fil-A after MOPS Steering Team meetings & MOPS meetings with the kids.  Our precious children beg to go to Chick-Fil-A when we pick them up from MOPPETS, it’s not that we can’t get enough chicken, I assure you.  Anyway, I’ve developed this quasi relationship with a cashier by the name of Sylvia.  Sylvia is, I’m guessing, 63 and thinks I’m the bomb.  When I walk in, she waves and motions for me to come to her line.  This is the longest part of my day.  Sylvia is not the swiftest cashier in the joint and it takes forever to get through.  Sylvia asks me about church, tells me what her Bible study group is up to at Church of the King, it’s just like talking to your grandmother — until you fork over the $18 for 3 kids meals and my chargrilled southwest salad.  Mammaw never made me pay for lunch. 

After a trip to Target, the kids begged for Chick-Fil-A, so we went through the drive thru.  I ordered, drove up, and the cashier says “Hi Miss Cabbage Patch!”  I looked around for a camera ’cause I’m sure I must be on “Punk’d” or something and the cashier says, “oh, Ms. Sylvia calls you Miss Cabbage Patch.”  As if on cue, Sylvia waves from 10 feet away.  I wave back, confused.  I handed my money over, got our food, and drove away.  Now, I would get someone nicknaming me something pertaining to my haircolor or my penchant for purses, capri pants, or my inability to park a car or drive in reverse, but I’m at a loss here.  I’ve never thought I looked particularly like a Cabbage Patch doll and I certainly have not mastered the dance as my dear husband has, so I’m clueless. 

I remained fairly nickname-less until college (well, I’m sure I was called names, but not so much when I was present) where I was nicknamed ReeRee by Kim, Smokey by Bryan, and random others.  I’ve been Red & Kerry B to many since middle school and high school, hence my email address and such.  And I like bees.  Bees are cool, ’til you mess with them & they sting the fire out of you.  I’m not liking this Cabbage Patch thing.

So, dear readers, question is: how do I break up with my Chick-Fil-A cashier?  I have plenty of break-up experience from back in the day, but this is beyond even me.  For added blog value I have included a pic of said doll (found a pic online of the doll I actually had when I was a kid, how’s that for being a good blogger) and a pic of me from a couple of weeks ago.  Yes, I have a round face, always have since birth, but that’s the only similarity I see.  I think I need to up the anxiety meds.  I’m sure I’ll obsess over this for weeks.  Y’all know I have a tendency to do that.