I know what I am.

Remember when I rocket-launched a six-pack of Orangina all over the grocery store floor? And then just a month or so later, when I accidentally spiked 3 bottles of Coca-cola at the register, sending shards of glass into other people’s shopping bags?

Well, as you might guess, all of the cash register ladies at my local FranPrix pretty much roll their eyes every time I walk through the door. Like here comes that dumb pregnant American who keeps breaking things. So yesterday when I waddled in and very delicately picked up a few bottles of sparkling water, I made sure to smile a lot and take extra care putting everything into my bag. In fact I was so focused on not causing another glass massacre that I left behind a shopping bag containing Husband’s newly polished dress shoes.

And when I realized this, oh, about 3 hours later, I panicked. I flew out of the apartment in yoga pants and flip flops (which, while fine everywhere else in the world, makes you look like a raving lunatic here), ran across the street, and burst through the automatic doors gasping j’ai perdu un sac en plastique avec des chaussures!

I lost a plastic bag with some shoes! Somebody help me!

But the entire line of patrons and my stone-faced cashier just stared in wonder tinged with disgust. So I repeated my plea to the cashier, explaining that I was there earlier and I think I left the bag and I’m sorry to bother you and…dear god just somebody say something.

Finally the cashier lady sighed and pulled out my bag from underneath the register. I said a sheepish merci and backed out the door. And as I walked home I decided that I would not be surprised if there’s a sign in the employee break room with my picture on it that says casse-pieds– pest, pain in the ass, or literally, foot-breaker.