Yesterday Samara had a brilliant idea. She spontaneously removed her diaper and ran down the street. We were headed to the bank. It was supposed to be a fairly routine errand.
At the bank, I quickly scribbled my account number on the deposit slip while a diaper-less Samara chased Ari around the bank table, bright blue lollipops in hand.
I was praying that she wouldn’t pee or poop on the floor in those two minutes.
After the bank I ran (holding Ari’s hand and carrying a diaper-free Samara) to the bodega on the corner.
I bought overpriced diapers and attempted to pin her down to replace the diaper she had recently stripped off her body.
Unfortunately, Ari and Samara were (yet again) racing each other fueled by the sugar in the bank lollipops. Thankfully, I managed to get Ari to stop with the promise of Pirate Booty. The cashier behind the counter pointed out that we could see Samara on the security camera in various aisles of the store running, semi-naked, laughing maniacally.
Eventually, I got her diaper on, but fearful that she would remove it again, I thought maybe I’d better buy her some underwear; perhaps this is a sign.
So we entered an overpriced yuppie kid’s store on the off chance that they might sell underwear.
“We have diaper covers.” The woman behind the counter said purposely trying not to smile.
I wondered, why she looked so constipated, and then I realized that Samara was behind me throwing Thank You cards on the floor and scattering them like rice at a wedding.
“Oh! I’m so sorry.” I said frenetically picking up the cards.
But that was only the beginning. Samara laughed, ran behind the angry clerk and entered the store’s private bathroom.
“No, no, sweetie you can’t go in there.” The woman said, obviously uncomfortable with the situation and not knowing what to do or say.
I ran into the bathroom and collected a screaming Samara, who was intent on staying in the bathroom. She ran back in there at least 10 times afterward.
She then climbed up on the chair behind the cash register shouting “chair!”
“I really apologize.” I said to the woman. “Clearly she wants to work here.”
The woman laughed awkwardly.
“Samara’s crazy!” Ari said laughing and attempting to pick up each expensive object she threw on the floor.
Eventually, Ari, the saleswoman and I managed to pick up everything that Samara had strewn about.
“Uh oh.” Said the saleswoman “There’s a screw missing here.”
Samara managed to disassemble a miniature metal locker and lose an integral screw in the process.
So, the three of us (Ari, the saleswoman and I again) carefully got down on our hands and knees and searched every corner of the store to find this phantom screw. But, to no avail.
“Do you want me to pay for a replacement screw?” I offered pathetically.
“Let me call the owner.” Said the saleswoman. “Oh, she also scribbled in this journal. I think it can be erased but let me ask the owner what she’d like to do.”
As the saleswoman called the owner, Ari and I distracted Samara with some colorful clothespins that were on the floor (also Samara’s handiwork).
“The owner said it’s okay, we can replace the screw, don’t worry about it. And I was able to erase the spot in the journal.”
I bought the diaper covers and left the store a little less sane that I’d been when we entered it.