Darn it. Learning the hard way.

One cool thing about businesses in France is that pregnant women, people with canes or in wheelchairs and parents with kids in strollers are prioritaire.

This priority status means front of the line, baby!

Whether it’s in the post office, a cafeteria lunch line, a fair grounds, a museum, or a department store… Vous êtes prioritaire, madame. Well, thankyouverymuch.

That being said, I have made it my priority to bring Adelaide with me shopping. Our day just goes by much quicker that way.

Oh, also, I bring her because I can’t leave her at home alone. Yet.

You can imagine my delight when I got home to no milk, apple sauce, yogurt or bread in the house. These are the staple foods of the little papoose that lives with us.

I looked at the clock on my way out. It was just turning 7 as we left. Also, due to the shrieking that started coming from the stroller, I decided that the world was coming to an end as we know it. I ran to the store.

All that running must have tuckered sweet little pipsqueak out, because she didn’t mutter a peep while we were in the store. That is, until I was in the ckecout lane.

My ears burned and my cheeks flushed scarlet as her screams got louder and louder. Also I was wearing four layers of clothes and a beanie, so I could have just been getting hot because of my clothes. Be it heat or embarrassment, I was red nonetheless. Normally, the French do their best to ignore people they don’t know.

Every eye was on me. I could feel le jugement. 

The lady at la caisse (the cash register) said something to me. Baby girl spat her binkie on the ground. The lady behind me gave me  a face that said “Really, I’ve only got 3 items. You should let me pass.” I am sorry, lady, but what happened to me being prioritaire? I clearly have a bébé in a pousette. Why is no one ushering me to the front of the line?!

I throw my things in my bag, pay the lady, wipe myself off the floor.

She says: “The first cash register is always prioritaire, you know.”

I sheepishly thank her mumbling about how there’s no prioritaire where I’m from and shouldn’t all caisses be prioritaire anyway?

I looked at the clock when I got home. My shame only lasted 20 minutes. Baby girl was happy as a clam when we got back, having completely forgotten her trials at the store.

C’est la vie.

 

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