Back in my younger wilder days, I used to go to Wal-Mart purely to check out the fresh meat – and by fresh meat, I mean not-so-fresh young men. I found bib overalls really hot. (I also drank a lot in my younger wilder days.) These days, I go mainly to marvel at the high loads that spandex can accomodate and wonder which will be the Twinkie that rips that seam right open. Plus, it’s kind of cool to see who can fit the biggest breasts into a camisole with a built in bra.
Today, after my regular tri-weekly Wal-Mart run, I was drinking a beer and reflecting on my awesome purchases when it suddenly hit me like a ton of bricks – or a run-away cart if your Wal-Mart is anything like mine. Wal-Mart is the only place I can think of where a person can buy workout pants, beer, eggplant, and a fishing license all in one convenient stop. And by convenient, I mean hellish. Had it not been for Uncle Sam – I mean Sam Walton, then one would have to make 3, possibly 4, stops to get all those provisions. And if you get tired or hungry while wandering the aisles, well you can always go to the snack bar and indulge in a soft pretzel with extra salt. Not that I would do that, understand, since I’m on Weight Watchers again and all.
Is it too hot, cold, or rainy for your daily walk? You can always speed-walk the aisles. I’m sure you have all seen the much forwarded email detailing all kinds of fun things to do at Wal-Mart, such as putting condoms in old ladys’ carts. I prefer to go to the women’s panty department (or “foundations” as they are called at Wal-Mart), take a whiff of some and say real loud, “Oh my goodness! Someone has WORN these! Gross!” That’s good times right there.
The only bad part about my trip today was the cashier. She carded me and I said, “Thank you. I haven’t been carded in awhile.” (I’m sure that’s more a function of the fact that I frequent the local liquor store too much and not the fact that I look younger than I am.) She said, “I hate to burst your bubble–” I interrupted her with a warning look and a “stop right there.” Of course she continued, “We’ve been told we are supposed to card anyone who is younger than 40.” I guess I can take heart that at least I look younger than 40.
Now, if you’ll excuse me, I hear a Twinkie calling my name and I need to adjust my Lycra.