Peeping Tommy

The other day, I popped into Old Navy for the sole purpose of buying $3 flip-flops. (I was on my way to get a pedicure, and stopping at the store was quicker than running all the way home.)

Inside, I noticed a rowdy band of little boys ages three to five who were running and playing with such gusto, they’d worked up a sweat.

I found these sandals in a matter of seconds, then was momentarily sidetracked by a pair of cute cargo pants.

I ducked into one of those freestanding dressing rooms with nothing but a mirror and a curtain and got straight to work. Midway into the pants, I heard muffled giggles coming from outside my tiny space. A small sneaker appeared under the curtain.

“Someone’s in here,” I called.

And that’s when it happened. One of the little boys flung open the curtain, revealing a half-dressed yours truly.

“Guys!” I said, exasperated. “That is not cool.”

I threw on my regular clothes and marched out of the dressing room. For the first time I spied their harried mother, who had approximately 12 other children and had clearly missed the whole thing.

I didn’t want to stir up trouble, but I couldn’t resist giving the ringleader a what-do-you-have-to-say-for-yourself kind of look. (I figure it’s good practice for when I’m a mom.)

The kid’s eyes got very wide. I’m sure he thought I was about to bust them. He made a quick decision and without a word, pointed to his brother.

That’s when I gave up and burst out laughing.

Well played, little man. Well played.

No Comments Yet

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published.

You may use these HTML tags and attributes: <a href="" title=""> <abbr title=""> <acronym title=""> <b> <blockquote cite=""> <cite> <code> <del datetime=""> <em> <i> <q cite=""> <s> <strike> <strong>