WE are those Walmart People.

Yep, we’re the Walmart People you see ridiculous photos of online and such. That’s us.

Let’s set the scene. Picture Kellan and me shuffling through the automatic doors of Walmart looking like the following:

Covered in sidewalk chalk. I had sidewalk chalk all over my – you guessed it – yoga pants. They weren’t my usual black ones – I switched into my summer yogers: capri-style and a deep grey! A lovely canvas for the fluorescent pink, white and orange chalkings. Especially on my rumpus. Of course I sat on the section of sidewalk where I drew. Not where Kellan drew, but where Mommy did. Kellan has no interest in drawing with the chalk, you see. He’d rather A. Eat it. B. Throw multiple pieces down and step on them like he’s rollerblading (thus falling over) and C. Whisk the contents of the dog’s water bowl with it.

So I was sporting “I *heart-symbol* Dada” on my ass in chalk. Better than “Yum” or whatever the young girls are wearing these days. Victoria’s Secret should make a mom line. Maybe Call it Real Moms. I’m thinking ones with “Sag”, “Dump” or “Dimple” on them. Maybe just “Dimp” if “Dimple” is too long. More realistic, you know? Anyway, I had homemade ones on accompanied by a well-loved sweatshirt with ripped cuffs and strings a danglin’.

Now onto Kellan’s wardrobe. He was wearing a long-sleeved “white” polo on with the collar popped for neck sun coverage (thank you, again, doc, for furthering my sun/skin paranoia) with orange chalk marks covering his belly. Basically a white and orange tie dyed polo. The chalk made it look like he had been chowing on cheesedoodles or some other nonfood item, another Walmart People staple. What’s for dinner? Meal o’ Cheesedoodle.

To top off our look, Kellan and I were both soaked in various places from him pouring the water out of his pal onto himself right before we hopped in the car to hit up Wally World.  (I had filled a pal with water for him to play with outdoors and swirl his chalk into so that he’d leave the dog’s water alone.) I was hoping he’d dry out on the way. 70s, sunny. That’s car ride pants-drying weather. Not so much. My hip, his in-store transportation, thus also became soaked as we ambled around the aisles.

Last but not least. When Kellan picked out some new summer beach-going sneaker sandal things, I let him wear them because I felt bad that his feet were so sweaty in the Air Jordans he wore in. Making us even more Walmarty. My kid schlepping along in the not-yet-paid-for-merch with the tag hanging off them, causing a limp, kind of like Jacob Marley in his shackles.

So yeah. This was today’s realization. Maybe Walmart People are actually somewhat normal and just caught on camera in their ugliest of moments. Like us. Wrongly accused of being social misfits.

Then again. Maybe not.

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One Response to WE are those Walmart People.

  1. mama says:

    There really is no such thing as “Walmart People.” Walmart is just somehow a place, like home, where you can just go no matter what you look like. Maybe way, way back, one rather derelict- looking person got off the bus and entered a brand new Walmart, and everyone who saw that person thought, “Hey, I can shop here looking just like that bag lady! I don’t even have to brush my teeth or my hair, and underwear is optional! Yay!” And we are all only human after all, which means we will really only rise as high as we have to, or in other words, as high as the lowest level of other humans in our environment. Hence the genesis of “Walmart People.” And for all of you who snub your nose at Walmart because 1) you don’t like the look of the shoppers who go there or 2) you don’t like the way Walmart treats its employees, well then, that’s your decision. So you go to your fancy schmancy stores, your Targets, your Wegman’s. You go ahead and take your pajama bottoms off before you put your sweat pants on, and put on some lipstick and wash your kid’s face. I’ll go to Walmart, do my shopping and be back home before you are dressed and made up and ready to go.

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