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I posted a Craigslist Missed Connection, but I’m also posting here in the hopes to reach you.
 
This is probably a long shot, but here goes. I saw you, Whole Foods, around 12:10 PM in the eating area. You were the handsome business man wearing the sharp blue suit and white button up shirt. I was the mom behind you who looked like she stuck her finger in an electrical socket, wearing yesterday’s makeup and gray leggings with an oil stain of unknown origin on my right thigh. You were eating a slice of pizza and sipping an Italian Sparkling water. I was eating the crust off my kids grilled cheese and trying to dig the floaties out of a cup of fountain water I was regretting sharing with my kids. You looked over at me, smiled and nodded. I did the same while my toddler jammed a soggy cracker in my cleavage.
 
Some time after my babies ran off to play in the kids area and I was texting my mom asking her if I should consider teeth whitening, I caught Poppy squatting right behind your chair. She was playing with a wooden tomato, but I could tell her heart wasn’t in it. Her face was the same color as the tomato and she was pushing off her right foot like she was waiting for a starter shot.
 
“Poppy!” I hissed. You looked over at me. I smiled weakly and pretended to take a call. Once you went back to your pizza, I hissed again. Finally Poppy looked up at me. “Are you pooping?” I quietly mouthed.
 
She looked me dead in the eyes and whispered, “No.”
 
Liar.
 
I thought about picking her up and moving her, but she was in the thick of it, actively dropping a deuce a mere foot from your lunch. I said a prayer that she’d wrap it up quick and busied myself by checking my phone and eating whatever remnants were left of the grilled cheese like a peasant.
 
Then I smelled it.
 
Who wouldn’t? It was like getting locked in an Porta Potty at a music festival in August. I made eyes with Poppy and gestured.
 
“Come here,” I mouthed. “NOW.”
 
“NOOOOOOOO,” she mouthed back.
 
You put down your pizza and looked around. I picked up my phone and started laughing, “Oh Franchesca, you are too funny!” Full disclosure – I don’t know a Franchesca and if I did I surely wouldn’t call her by her full name.
 
I kept eyeing you to see if you pieced together that you were in the midst of a poop cloud. You turned around.
 
Oh crap.
 
You focused your attention toward the bathroom. *Yes, that’s it! Blame it on the bathrooms!*
 
What feels like a decade later, Poppy finally wrapped up her business and started to toddle off, waddling like she was trying to steal a Christmas ham in the back of her pants. I let out a sigh of relief. Although by your expression I could tell you were utterly disgusted, you were none the wiser about what spoiled your lunch.
 
Then we both heard it. “Mama! Maaaaaamaaaaaaa!!”
 
We turned. “I poooooped! Changah meeeee! Pwease!”
 
We locked eyes. I picked up my phone and told Franchesca I’d have to call her back. You threw out the rest of your pizza and left.
 
Anyway, I’m sure you’ll never see this, but if you do – we just want to say we’re sorry for pooping on your lunch. Well, Poppy doesn’t really care, if we’re being honest, but I apologize just the same.
 
So, sorry.
 
Also, nice suit.