My son screamed in the library today. Loudly. Really loudly. Incredibly loudly. I’m pretty sure a librarian would have escorted us out had we not already been on our way out the door.
The mean thing that I did to provoke his wrath was not allow he and his sister to check out two copies of the same exact CD. Grace had already handed me hers, and I’d already run it through the self checkout kiosk. I told him he could pick out another CD, just not that one. Horrible, right?
They are so close in age (right now, Cam is four and Grace is three) that they are used to being treated like twins. What one gets, the other gets. But there was no way I was hogging up two of the exact same CDs to appease the random whims of a four-year-old.
So I dragged him out. Past the disapproving looks of retired grandmothers, students, and users of free public library Internet porn. Of course we were in the back of the building. Of course he screamed the whole way out.
After that, I drove around a bit before going home. I needed time to get over my deep mortification. I needed time to reevaluate my life decisions. I needed time to realize that we should probably never go to that library again. Ever.