#&&jun

In the spirit of fairness, Rita had to suppose that grocery shopping had gotten considerably easier now that Mason was a toddler. But in the spirit of reality it had only gotten harder. Where infant Mason had mostly slept through most trips, toddler Mason stayed away the entire time and demanded every sugary treat he saw. And the tantrums if he didn’t get what he wanted? Dear God, she hated those. Dreaded them even.

But, you see, Roscoe had a work thing and they were out of the pup’s favorite treats (a serious slight in their eyes and a punishable offense in the eyes of her two year old who was overzealous with treats) and she needed things for the dinner she had planned. So there was absolutely no avoiding a shopping trip.

With Mason settled comfortably in the blue car trolley (a fight Rita absolutely was not going to have with her son), Rita pulled her shopping list from her purse and started to walk. Mason babbled happily, squealing in delight when Rita made race car sounds whenever she turned. Only occasionally a little fist reached from the inside of the car to grab some sugary treat that Rita had no desire to buy him. 

It wasn’t until she reached the potatoes that she had a real problem. As she was comparing sizes of potatoes for the gnocchi she planned for the night, Mason slipped from the trolley. There was a small laugh followed by the telltale sound of Mason absolutely knocking down a display and Rita felt all the color drain from her face as all eyes landed on her and her son.

“Mason Ottavio,” she hissed as she moved over to him and started picking up boxes of strawberries that had fallen around her son. Feeling someone approach (and seeing how Mason’s eyes went up to another figure as his eyes started to well with tears), Rita stood and scooped her son up. “I’m so sorry, Mister Moon. Someone here wanted strawberries but couldn’t wait. I--- I’ll gladly pay for whatever yous can’t sell.”