For the Love of a Log

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Everyone knows how much I love the grocery store.  Well, I didn’t go just once this week, I went TWICE.  Why, you ask?  Because I’m the dumb ass who forgot something, or some things.  Forgetting stuff during Can-Can week is a mortal sin in my book.

I was expecting some friends over Monday night and in addition to some essentials I had, um…forgotten, I wanted to get one of those Dura-Logs so we could have a nice cozy fire.

Anyway, I can’t find the damn log.  I have been up and down every dang isle TWICE looking for it.  I wish Shop Rite would stop moving crap around.  To top it off, I can’t find a single staff member.

I’m ready to sock the idea when I finally see not one, but two store employees talking amongst themselves at the end cap of isle number 14.  I squeeze in as closely as I can to avoid being stampeded and stare at them for a good half minute hoping to catch their attention.  They look at me and continue on.  Great.

So, just to recap real quick…I’m pissed because I’ve walked all over the f’ing store not once, but twice.  I can’t find a single employee who can help me and when I do find an employee, I’m completely ignored.  Oh, and I’m dodging can-loving freaks like bullets.  Do I sound like I’m in a good mood???

Suddenly, I hear this — “look lady, pick a direction and move in it.”  When I look up, I realize he is speaking to me.  He reminded me of Scarecrow from The Wizard of Oz with his fingers pointed in both directions, but not so cute.  “You’re holding up traffic.”  Geez, if he only had a brain.

The look I shot Scarecrow could have frozen the Amazon.  I think I actually saw fear in his eyes.  And the log?  I passed the whole blasted stack of ’em coming in the front door.

Round Peg in a Square Hole

Today, after school, the kid and I went to the store to return a gift she had received.  I saw the perfect parking spot.  Here’s the only problem:

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Sure, when I was 19 and weighed all but 98 pounds.  Not so much for a middle-aged woman who’s middle has gone south with the geese and who’s as flexible as a 90 year old gymnast.

I thought for a minute.  I guess I can always just park somewhere else.  Nah, the kid is already outside waiting for me.  It would be way too much trouble.

I proceed to haul my fat ass across the middle console and over the passenger seat so I can exit the vehicle.  Oh, I know what you’re thinking.  Well, it didn’t go as smoothly as all that.  Here’s proof because my sweet daughter took it upon herself to snap some photos.  Stupid iPhone.

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After losing a shoe and a little pee, I made it.  But I can promise you, that will never be attempted again.  You have my word.

Man-equin

While at my local mall the other day, I saw this in the men’s department of Macy’s:

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Good God, what do these dummies do after store hours?  I tried to figure out his story.
First of all, what’s with the guy behind him?  Never mind, I don’t think I want to know.
So, maybe he got this way by trying to change his pants?  After all, look at that color.  Poor guy.  It’s bad enough he doesn’t have a head.
Then I looked again.  Really looked…and thought, “What the hell is the matter with me?  How did I miss it?”  Right there in the open too.  I guess it just goes to show they are all the same, human or plastic.  Even if it means losing a limb…or two.