A couple of years ago, I was puttering through the toy aisle at Target, ostensibly shopping for our godson’s birthday but really wondering exactly what kids find enjoyable these days. I was not a typical girl (my Barbies tended to be missing legs or heads and have “interesting” hair cuts), so children’s toys and the selection thereof tends to be a confusing ordeal for me. Then I found them: HULK SMASH HANDS. Those look AWESOME, I thought, and picked them up. And put them on. They were giant and squishy and green and they growled.
Winner winner chicken dinner, I thought. I took a few mandatory punches at the stuffed toys, pretended that I was Rocky after running up the stairs to the library, and added them to my cart.
When one is in Target, or any of those big-box superstores, for that matter, I tend to wonder what else it is that I’m forgetting. Cleaning supplies (check). Deodorant and toothpaste (check check). Dog bones and dog treats and dog bribery (check check check). Ah, that’s right, the feminine hygiene aisle. That’s what I forgot.
I wheeled out of toys, the cart rattling in front of me as I dipped and swerved. I’m not a big fan of shopping on weekends, and I wanted this errand stop done and off my to-do list as quickly as possible. I giggled as I rolled along, however, as the cart’s vibrations made the Hulk Smash Hands say random things like “Hulk ANGRY! Hulk SMASH!” and “RAWWWWWRRRRR!!!”
I arrived at my hygenic destination, spun my cart in, and stopped. There were a few people in there–men, too, although they sported the “Do I really have to be here?” face which they hoped looked supportive but not creepy–perusing their feminine options. It was then that the Hulk Smash Hands exacted their revenge.
“YOU DON’T WANT TO SEE ME WHEN I’M ANGRY!!!!!!!!!!” they raged at everyone in the aisle.
Everyone turned and looked at me.
I smiled demurely, winked at one of the men, and said, “Well, you really don’t–I’m not for the faint of heart!” before spinning around to make my way to the checkout aisles. (Please note that for once in my life, I didn’t trip over my own feet and face plant into the cart’s handle.) I could hear some nervous twittering and chuckles as I walked away.
I got such a kick out of those Hulk Smash Hands that I nearly kept them. I was a dutiful fairy godmother, however, and got them in the mail to Wisconsin in time for Christmas. I remain ever hopeful, however, on what the Incredible Hulk will bring me for my own birthday one year. And it better not be from the feminine hygiene aisle!
And here is my adorable niece Ivy, playing with her very own Incredible Hulk–gotta love a girl that can make the Hulk wear pink and give him the what for!