My sister procured some fine Jim's spaghetti sauce (he can eat the noodles easily with less than his normal number of teeth) while I was to get him a gift card. I picked my aisle carefully as our Wal-mart is incapable of opening up more than four lanes at any given time. I found one in which a lady and her two loud children had piled only aisles 1-4 in the tiny, now fragile-looking buggy. And as I stood there in the line at Walmart (my own version of hell) I realized with a cold horror that my wallet was not in my possession. That it was, more than likely, in the passenger seat of my car and the apple, which I thought I had pulled out of my purse, was snuggled in the bottom of my SAK purse instead - mocking me appley.
Asking the cashier to hold my purchases (ice cream and a card with a monkey draped in a towel with an inscription that proclaimed "It's your birthday... Go APE SHEET!" on the inside) I ran to the parking lot to get my wallet while weaving and ducking in between the minivans and clunkers that blocked my path. I threw open my car's door and found it sitting guiltily next to my pb sandwich that I didn't have time to eat for lunch. I snatched it up with one hand and ran back into the hellacious mega-atore where I almost had a brush with death as a Granny in a Buick tried to make the crosswalk into her own version of Roadkill Alley.
I was now "glistening" like a pantiless whore in church and as I rounded Lane 7 I found myself nose to neck of a large sweaty man, his wife, their two buggies and what was roughly the contents of aisles 4-12.
I huffed, I puffed, I blew my bangs out of my face and then flipped open my pink phone. "Yeah, mom? Tell DAD I may be LATE for his BIRTHDAY!!! Yeah - I'm going to be here for quite some time... Yeah - I know... but he'll have others, right? Hopefully?" Yeah - subtle, I'm not.