That Isn't Butterscotch Pudding!

WARNING:

Post not for the squeamish!

We've never evacuated a Ralphs before.

Stacy and I took the kids shopping this morning in prep for the Thanksgiving onslaught. 2 kids = 2 carts. I took L and Stacy took N and we piled both carts to the hilt. We were just about done and I was following Stacy down an aisle when I began to get a whiff of something that I wouldn't expect to be sold in a supermarket. (In the K-mart garden amendment section perhaps...) After offending Stacy by asking her if she was in any way responsible, we realized that N was engaged in a private labor. Hoping it was a "momentary affliction" we continued our shopping. But the further down the aisle we went, the stronger the aroma cloud enveloping us. It was clear N's accomplishments were of a more permanent nature.

We made it to the check-out line - L and I pulled in in front (to be down wind) and Stacy and N pulled in behind. We very soon began to get looks from fellow customers. And that's when things really got nasty. Stacy, in an attempt to verify the clearly obvious, gave the back of N's diaper a tug and peered inside. There must have been some sort of delicately balanced pressure ratio that Stacy upset at that precise moment, because things started flowing like out of a horror movie.

All over N.
All over Stacy.
All over the cart seat.

We were getting shocked gasps and a couple of choked gaggings from those around us now. I was unpiling my cart as quick as I could, just throwing eggs and fruit etc. on the checkout track to get it unloaded. Meanwhile Stacy is flailing around with an ever-erupting N, scrambling to plug the leaks and shore up the levies. We made eye-contact and gave the head nod and we immediately flung ourselves into our unspoken emergency recovery plan. She hoisted up the oozing child and sprinted down the line of checkout stands and bolted out the door, green cloud trailing noxiously behind. I finished shot-putting my cart's groceries on the track, hauled the other smoldering cart forward and began whipping the load out of that one. Meanwhile the somehow-still-oblivious checkout dude was chatting merrily with L, not quite able to understand that L was going into great detail about N's abdominal activities. As I pulled N's toxic cart through the line and out the other side, I noticed a rather large puddle on the floor that looked disturbingly like chunky butterscotch pudding. Flagging a store worker I waived vaguely toward the crime scene and understated that they "might need a clean-up."

After the humiliation-spawned eternity that passed for the groceries to be tallied and paid for, my brisk hike back to the car found Stacy in the last stages of environmental disaster mitigation. Her eyes were watery from obvious gagging. N sat in his car seat, naked but for a new diaper. I noticed that he was sucking on his fingers, but (for my own nausea's sake) I could not allow myself to think though the implications of that long enough to make him quit.

We quickly boarded the car, which now smelled like a waste treatment plant, and fled the scene. I'm pretty sure around the time we made it to Sepulveda Blvd I saw the Haz-Mat helicopters pass overhead, heading the other way.

We'll be spending the rest of the afternoon boiling all our clothes.