It Took Three Decades, but I finally LOVE Aerosmith

We were out of milk this morning. I was up. Walking. Going through the motions of The Mom Getting the Kids Breakfast. But not awake. And even if I were awake, I had very little patience. Really, none at all, for the sound of whining that was coming out of my six-year old. Nails on a chalkboard. Life purpose poison.

Before we realized we were out of milk, Little Skye had poured a bowl of cereal. He didn't mind that we were out of milk, what he complained full tilt boogie about was that we only had the organic Honey Nut Os instead of Honey Nut Cheerios that have the cartoons on the back of the box. I looked at my watch. It was only 7 am. I never step out into frigid temperatures when my bed is still warm but on this morning, with this whining, with how NOT in the mood I was for it, there was enough time for a grocery run! I was very willing to be the one to make the run. In fact I would have wrestled my husband to the floor in a frenzy for the car keys if he'd so much as motioned for the door, being the helpful "I'll run out and get that for you, honey" kind of guy he is.

In my haste to get out of the house I barely noticed, until I was walking through the parking lot of the Giant Eagle and felt a lopsided lump that bounced on my head with each step, that I must look reaaaaal pretty this morning. I literally rolled out of bed and went out in public in a suburb, where that is a violation for which one can be ticketed, with yesterday's ponytail barely holding on to my right temporal lobe.

"Ma'am, excuse me. Are those the clothes you slept in?"

"Yes, officer. And they're even the same clothes I wore yesterday. Please let me off this time. My kid was whining at the crack of dawn. I had to get out of there before I went postal."

"Understood, ma'am. Have a nice day."

I approached the sliding doors intending to avoid my reflection and anyone I might know. Murphy's Law would have me bumping into Alex's horribly judgmental first and second grade teacher who was convinced that all of Alex's problems were his mother's inability to organize. "Routines are not routine" still echos in my head, particularly at times like this when I have to make a milk run on a school morning. Only inferior, substandard parents don't know when they're going to bed groggy-eyed that there's no soymilk in the fridge for tomorrow's breakfast.

I just needed one carton of milk. The parking lot had about four cars including mine. Maybe I could run in and run out unnoticed. I grabbed the milk. Then I remembered the delicious organic cookies that we devoured yesterday after school. I would definitely want some of those in the afternoon. And "oh, yea, we're out of bread....". I walk over to the bread section, waaaaaay over at the far end of the store, and on my way to the registers, swing by the jelly section because we're almost out of that, too.

I'm done hunting and gathering and begin walking toward the registers, waaaaaaay over at the other end of the store, when suddenly it hits me that I've got a nice stride going and it's to the beat of......is that Aerosmith? Aerosmith and I like it? Aerosmith at the Giant Eagle in UPPER ARLINGTON?.....And I like it?

Surely I am still not awake. This can't be true. But the driving lead guitar was telling me that it was. Between the jelly aisle and the pharmacy I had suddenly revived. Music can sometimes substitute for espresso apparently because when I got up to the registers and unloaded my basket onto the conveyor belt I turned into Espresso Lady! I said very loudly "IS THAT REALLY AEROSMITH PLAYING AT THE GIANT EAGLE IN UPPER ARLINGTON? AM I IN THE RIGHT SUBURB?!!"

The cashiers, one about 18, the other about 50, plus their high-school dropout baggers lifted their heads and smiled. One of them nodded in the direction of the bagger who looked even more disheveled than me, only because I can't grow five o'clock shadow. He had just finished a night shift, stocking shelves. The choice in music was his. We saluted each other with a smile and suddenly, on cue, I broke out in my best air band lead guitar "Bent bent bent bent bent bent ben-neeeeh! Bent bent bent bent bent bent ben-neeeeh! [g a a# a g a a# c / g a a# a g a a# c (all quarter notes except the c which is a half note)] because I didn't know the words, or I would have sung them in the same scream yell voice as Steve Tyler who I never could stand until THIS....VERY....MOMENT.....IN......TIME.

I said "I must be asleep still! I must be dreaming! Aerosmith at the Giant Eagle in Upper Arlington! What a hoot! I bet if I come back at 10 am it will be Neal Sedaka." The cashier's nodded mournfully.

Everyone was in good spirit suddenly. None of the cashiers expected, when they clocked in that morning, that there would be some Upper Arlington housewife playing air band guitar and pretending to be Steve Tyler in aisle two. The customer in aisle one, however, was not amused. She seemed to take offense at the Neal Sedaka comment. Or maybe it was my air band guitar. She looked over her cold shoulder and gave me a cold stare.

I'm thinking "My hair, right?"

She turned around, crouching her shoulders after getting a glimpse of me. I recognize that "Get me out of here, NOW!" posture. Her cashier quickly rang her out and she left. A minute later my cashier hands me a receipt and I leave, sharing one last smile with the five o'clock shadow shelf stocker.

I get out to the parking lot, slide into my minivan and right in front of me, in a silver sedan, is Cold Shoulder Lady. As if she was waiting for me. She eyes me. The Upper Arlington Eye. If you've ever gotten the Upper Arlington Eye, you'd know how Julia Roberts felt in Pretty Woman when she was at the race tracks cheering on a horse by waving her bent arm up in the air, her hand in a fist, and yelling "Hoo-hooo-hooo!" the way Randy on American Idol gets his "dawgs" to cheer after a particularly successful performance. We don't cheer on our horses, dear. And we don't get down to Aerosmith at the Giant Eagle. Shit. She's going to call the management as soon as she gets home and the shelf stocker is going to have to stock shelves at 3 am to Neal Sedaka.

Cold Shoulder Lady backed up and drove away. A Bush-Cheney bumper sticker on the back bumper. I hooted "YES!!" Because the image of Bush-Cheney supporters being driven out of Upper Arlington gives me great satisfaction and was just the antidote I needed for the nails-on-a-chalkboard, life-purpose-poison whine waiting for me back home.

Even if he doesn't know who Aerosmith is, he does know who Bush and Cheney are and this would be just the story to rock the Jukebox* out of his mood.


*NOTE: Skye's nickname is the Jukebox because he always, ALWAYS, has a song to sing.....that is....when he's not whining.