I noticed it as soon as we were back Stateside. Everyone wants to help you here. It's simply what we do as a culture. There's genuine help like volunteering at your kids school and donating to fire victims and everything in between. That's what makes America great. But, that's not what I'm talking about.
I'm talking about when you're in Target in the aisle with the anti fungal cream aisle (which is also home the enemas and KY jelly, I think) and some guy wearing a red shirt asks you if you need help. Wait maybe he could look at the rash on my foot and help me decide if it's fungal or bacterial. I could ask him where the enemas are while I nervously explain it's not for me, it's for one of my kids, but I won't. Or maybe he could dig through my purse so I can find my reading glasses to find out if the KY is for his pleasure or her pleasure. Really, the most helpful thing a clerk could do is try to convince my kids that they in fact don't need another set of markers, tube of lip gloss, nerf gun or stuffed animal. Since you can't help me with any of these, I consider your "Can I help you?" an empty threat. During the summer especially, my bi-weekly trip to Target may be the only semi-peace I have for 15 consecutive minutes. So, intruding on my quiet solitude when I thought I was finally alone really pisses me off.
When I'm at home, I seek asylum in the kitchen. I love to cook and consider it mental health time because it relaxes me. Unless one of the kids asks, "Can I help you?" Dammit. Because when one of them asks, inevitably another kid wants to help. Then another, then another. Then they fight over who got to crack the egg, who stirred more, who gets to lick the spoon and who did whatever the wrong way. My kids are also the sloppiest cooks known to man. And making them clean up the mess, also involves finger pointing and numerous arguments that sometimes go fist to cuff. Especially since River recently bought new handcuffs with allowance money.
So, can you help me? You could. But you probably don't want to. Cause next time I just might leave my kids with the Target stock boy so I can go home and cook a gourmet dinner in peace.
(DISCLAIMER: It's summer and I don't have time to re-read this post before I publish it. It may make sense, it may not. It definitely could be better. Whatever, it's summer people!)