My Little Sister Shari …

A facepalm moment to beat all facepalm moments.

I grew up the oldest of six children in a small Ohio town. My youngest sister, Shari, was three, thirteen years my junior. She was an adorable little girl, but a handful, since she was hyperkinetic as well as ADHD.

Any time we went anywhere as a family, I was often put in charge of keeping Shari on the straight and narrow by encouraging good social behavior. Mostly though, it came down to simply helping her stay out of trouble. 

Gross’ Hardware was a large department store in town and it carried just about anything home owners might need. For comparison, the closest store to it today would probably be a cross between a Wal-Mart and a poor man’s Home Depot. (The photo above looks somewhat similar).

This was a Sunday and, as usual, we filled our regular whole pew in the first row balcony of our church.  Mama was always on one end, kids spread out through the middle, and Daddy completed our family sandwich, by sitting at the other end.

During the final ten minutes of the church service, Daddy sent a message through the ranks down to Mama that we were going to stop at Gross’ Hardware after church.

Mama was in the process of potty training three-year old Shari. When Mama got Daddy’s message about going to Gross’, she sent word back down to me to take Shari to the church bathroom after the service, so she could make it until we got home. I whispered this to Shari and she adamantly refused, saying loudly that she didn’t need to go potty.

Okay, fast forward to Gross’ Hardware. I held Shari’s hand as usual while Daddy searched through the racks of tools in the Hardware section for a socket wrench.

It wasn’t long before the natives became restless, so I led them all over to the Magazine and Book Department to kill some time. My attention was suddenly drawn down to my empty hand. Where was Shari?  She was here just a minute ago …

I told my siblings I was going to search for Shari and I left to retrace my steps. After five minutes, I was beginning to get concerned and I called her name as quietly as I could and yet still have her hear me. I went up one aisle, down another, and I suddenly heard her answer me, “Here I am.”

“Where are you, Shari?”

“Right here, Cathy. I’m right over here.” She sounded close, real close. I turned left at the next aisle and there she was ...

(No … oh my God, no!)

I found Shari … sitting on a display toilet in the Plumbing Department, panties down around her ankles, with a big smile on her face. A large puddle had formed on the linoleum floor beneath her choice of toilets.

“I was a good girl, Cathy, but I can’t find any toilet paper.”

It was a facepalm moment unlike any I had ever known …

Poet/Writer/Author of 5 books.
Quora Top Writer 2018.
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