August, It Happens Every Year

"I can't believe I forgot her formula"... As my eyes locked with those of the cashier. "I can see it on the shelf — it was the whole reason we came to the store today... I'll be right back," as I grabbed the 3-year-old, my other hand wrapped around the infant carrier strapped to my chest. I didn't miss the moans and exasperated sighs from the lengthy line behind me ... "She's just getting the milk for her baby, the poor thing," I heard the cashier attempt to explain, as if I were some feeble creature, obviously in need of guidance.

Was I the poor thing, or my baby? We hadn't yet paid for the rest of our groceries, and 30 seconds later when I returned with the infant formula, the glares of hatred that I received didn't have to blink twice before reminding me that this is August. August in the Hamptons ... and what took me so long? Didn't I notice the other people waiting? The people that don't live here year round and shop in this very store at least twice a week. The people that never forget ANYTHING. And the people that don't seem to realize that, despite having dropped college tuition amounts of money to be here, they are in fact, on vacation ... which I happened to just look up on Google and, despite my attempts to cause ruin, still means "An extended period of recreation ... A period of time devoted to pleasure, rest, or relaxation." How could I be so selfish?

But this comes as no surprise ... in fact, the surprise only comes when the random act of kindness appears — such as the woman yesterday that commented on how well behaved my son is. That, coming from someone that just described waiting in the deli line for a grilled chicken breast as "Hell on Earth." Because, dear Lord, WHY does she have to wait. Why are the deli-people doing this to her? What did she ever do to them? Don't they know? WHY DO THEY HATE HER SO MUCH?

But they don't. They don't hate you — that is to say that they don't want to hate you. You spend your money here ... which in turn makes the big bad economy go round, so please — be welcome. But really. What is with all the stress? The anger? This might be typical New York and you might be trying to relax, but before you get into that car and attempt to speed demon yourself down Main Street, TRY HARDER. Some people are backing out of parking spaces in vacationer euphoria — THEY DON'T SEE YOU COMING.

Because, I know that you paid for what they think the Hamptons should be — which is each individual's definition of high priced perfection. But please, your vacation is stressing me out. Watch that blood pressure, and lay it on back ... We have a few weeks to go.