This morning, as I was changing Garrett's diaper, he made a gagging sound and shrieked, "Bad poopie!" You know it's awful when the producer starts making comments.
Yesterday I was waiting to pick up my prescription at WalMart. I had decided to return for it at a later time--when my eyes were less covered in hideous sunglasses. There was some sort of problem with our insurance card and their computer so it took forever. While I was waiting a girl came up to drop off her prescription. She put her left hand on the counter and I immediately noticed the gorgeous and, might I add, humongous rock on her ring finger. I glanced at her and thought that she looked very young. This is not unusual in these parts so I didn't think much about it. Plus, I've been mistaken for a high schooler as recently as a couple of years ago so I'm not really one to talk. But then. Then I heard the following conversation...
Pharmacist: Have you filled here before?
Girl with incredible diamond covered ring: Oh yeah.
Pharmacist: Okay, date of birth?
Girl with incredible diamond covered ring: May 18, 1992 (Honestly I cannot remember the month and day because I was too busy trying not to pass out over the year.)
It didn't take me long to do the math. I was born in 81. That makes me eleven years older than this woman. I mean girl. I mean teenager. That makes her SIXTEEN!
And I should not be judging. I mean, it could have been a family heirloom. On her left ring finger. It could have been a figment of my imagination. There are so many logical explanations for why a sixteen year old (unless her birthday was in November or December in which case she is fifteen) is married. Alright, truthfully, I didn't want to stare hard enough to detect a wedding band so, for all I know, it's just an engagement ring. Engagements break off all the time. I should know. But I was completely beside myself. I wanted to yell for my husband, who was corralling my son in the hair product section, to, "Get over here and get a load of this! ONLY IN UTAH!" I did not. I refrained. Tell me that it is custom in these parts to give your daughters ridiculously large diamond rings for their sixteenth birthdays and then insist that they wear them on their left ring fingers.