my efforts to be unusually productive on a sunday afternoon have been somewhat thwarted.
i tooled off to the grocery store to get me some chili fixins and other assorted vittles since my fridge has been empty for much longer than i care to admit.
y’all know how much i hate the grocery store. i thought going at 10:30 in the morning would slash my chances of dealing with a packed store. well, i was wrong. the place was packed with heathen families who should have been in church.
i had the unfortunate luck of following around a lady with two kids. this wouldn’t have been bad, because i dig kids muchly. but this lady had a son about 2-year-old who would randomly let out blood-curdling screams for no apparent reason. he wasn’t crying, or throwing a temper tantrum. . . just screaming. i am not one for physcial violence, but i wanted to tie the kid up, stuff him in the freezer and shut the door.
blech.
but generally, for a trip to the grocery store it was pretty painless. of course, it never fails that when i am at my dirtiest and ugliest i spy a horde of hot men. but that’s besides the point.
what’s particularily traumatic about this trip to the store is that i am pretty sure my fly was down the entire time i was there. as soon as i unloaded the groceries, i bolted for the bathroom. i unbuttoned my shorts and noticed that conviently my zipper was already down.
yes.
my only saving grace is that i was pushing around a cart the entire time and hopefully, that blocked my exposed underpants. nobody even noticed, right?
At least you were *wearing* underpants.
“i had the unfortunate luck of following around a lady with two kids. this wouldn’t have been bad, because i dig kids muchly. but this lady had a son about 2-year-old who would randomly let out blood-curdling screams for no apparent reason. he wasn’t crying, or throwing a temper tantrum. . . just screaming.”
All I have to say is.. try working in the childrens dept of JCPenney’s… especially on the weekend when everybody and their mother has their stupid little screaming ankle-biters with them!
I noticed, and I must say I’d avoid writing your name with a Sharpie on the front of your panties. It’s distracting.