Don't Forget the Margarita Mix

Grocery stores, in particular, have always fascinated me.  If you've ever stopped to think about it, the variety and quantity of food contained in even a small grocery store can be quite astounding.  Growing up, my brother and I were often with our mom as she made the weekly trip to Food World.  We always enjoyed the challenge of trying to fill the buggy (for non-Southerners, this is a "cart") with items of dubious nutritional value, as Mom skillfully kept our wants more in line with our needs and family means.  Plus, we knew that we'd be allowed to get at a sugar cookie or cream horn from the bakery if we behaved.

Anyone who knows me is well aware of my ability to talk.  People drift into a coma.  Paint peels off of walls.  Styrofoam decomposes.  I continue talking.  Anyway, little Jamie was no different from big Jamie in this regard.  I was not a shy child, but I wasn't prone to scream unnecessarily or be ill-behaved.  I also had a memory like a steel trap and a keen ability to mimic adult speech patterns, often clearly speaking words not typically uttered by toddlers.  Many times, this led to cute moments where Mom and Dad would proudly watch as their very young son charmed other adults with references to the inner workings of a grandfather's clock, or discussed his favorite type of lightbulb.  At that age, society views the brainy child as something of a novelty: cute, but in a way that is ever so slightly creepy.

There were times where my youthful gift for gab, however, was not as appreciated.  One time, in particular, happened during a trip to Food World.  Enjoying a perch in the basket area of the buggy, my eyes spotted a large and colorful display of bottles filled with a green liquid.  Even though I was not much more than a toddler, I instantly recognized that the bottles contained margarita mix.  Undoubtedly recalling that the adults in the house enjoyed this frosty beverage during a recent poolside gathering with family visiting from out of town, I thought it would be helpful to remind my mom to replenish her supply of party mixers.  As such, her normally calm son became a screamer.  "Mommy!!  Don't forget the margarita mix!"  Mind you, saying this once would have more than sufficed.  Nevertheless, much to my mom's dismay, I felt the need to repeat my friendly reminder at least two more times.

In rural Alabama, having a young child who is able to recognize bottles of mixer by shape and color is particularly frowned upon.  At the very least, it makes you look like an irresponsible parent.  At the very worst, people could assume that you have an alcohol problem.  There is no graceful or simple way to explain to a random stranger that your child is acting like an idiot savant, and is prone to say random things that don't in any way reflect his exposure to inappropriate elements or vices.  Essentially, you're forced save face by frantically pushing your cart down the frozen food aisle to the dairy department, all the while hoping that no one you know is unfairly reformulating their opinion of you as a good mother.  Heck!  If I were my mom, I would have simply gone home and had a margarita by the pool.