Bullets and Bubblebath

Bullets and bubblebath: either way, your day is bound to improve.

Yup, that’s what was on my shopping list on Sunday morning. Nothing else. And even though I knew I would be going into Wal-Mart (by myself, of my own accord, mind you) for the first, I just couldn’t bring myself to buy anything else there.

Yes, it would have been more convenient. Yes, I probably would have had a greater selection. Yes, I probably would have paid less for whatever I finally chose. But I’m telling you I just had to get out of there. It was bad enough that there were the televisions (everywhere!) broadcasting the Wal-Mart network, the people (everywhere!) hacking and coughing and providing all sorts of fodder for the Petri dish air I was breathing. But then there was the guy standing next to the rifle display. He nearly got a woodie when I asked for .45 caliber, and then practically fell over when I said “two boxes.”

[David and a bunch of folks from work all went shooting on Saturday morning. We shot skeet first, and then moved to the rifle range where I single-handedly went through a hundred rounds with the pistol. The best part was the tennis ball, bar none. I felt kinda bad about using so much ammo, so I decided to get some to replace it and a box for next time. Who knew I would love shooting so much?]

Drooling-Wal-Mart-Guy started to follow me down the aisle after I paid, and I couldn’t help myself: I turned around and stared at him until he went away.

In Kroger, I never did find exactly the right smelling bubblebath. Everything was too. . . plastic-ish. But never mind. Afterward, kn0w1 and tree and I had a nice lunch together. She commented on the fact that I am indeed now carrying an actual purse-like thing, and heard that I went to a salon to have my hair done. [It’s true, but only because I had a snarl that was heading to Dred-land.]

I confess: it was nice.