precocious

I was at Target yesterday morning. By this point, I was in the checkout lane. It was 8:20 or so. Early. I’d unloaded my cart: a kitchen cleaner, a bag of cat food, a bunch of Hot Wheels cars for my niece’s Christmas gift, two rolls of wrapping paper under my arm.

A woman with one item asked if she could cut in front of me so she could get to her bus. Sure.

The cashier started ringing me up. A woman came in line behind me and unloaded some Monster School toys. The cashier asked her if her daughter, who was standing next to the customer, was a fan. Another Target employee came over.

“I don’t understand,” the customer and both cashiers said, referencing the popularity of what I assume is a TV show.

“You just don’t get it,” the little girl rolled her eyes.

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