Earlier today I had a meeting downtown, the exit of which was rendered exceedingly long by all of the baseball fans leaving the stadium who were NOT RESPONSIBLE PEDESTRIANS. Please, for general sanity, take care to learn the meaning of street signs, the difference between a flashing red hand and flashing block person, how to distinguish a cross walk from regular paved street, and other pedestrian laws before going downtown. For anything. Ever. I waited two minutes at a green light while a woman and her husband stood in front of my bumper and argued about whether or not they should walk out in front of the CAR THEY'VE ALREADY WALKED OUT IN FRONT OF!
Afterwards, I stopped at the Super Wal-Mart - and I did get the letters telling me that by shopping at Wal-Mart I'm endorsing it and wasn't I aware that Wal-Mart hates women, beats puppies, sets fire to orphans and sells the cheap cheese? Yes, but I LOVE those things!
Anyway, I went to the SWM pharmacy to pick up Liam's Zyrtec. Unfolding at the counter was a situation that lies at the top of my pet peeve-I-want-to-scratch-my-eyes-out list: Someone unloading the ENTIRE contents of their cart at the pharmacy to checkout because they're too lazy to walk over to the regular checkout and CHECK OUT. So I'm behind this elderly woman (late 60s? 70s?) who was stylishly, yet eccentrically dressed. First, she wore panty-hose with gold lame open-toed sandals, and I hate both open-toed sandals and panty-hose. Especially together. She wore a beautiful, perfectly coiffed wig, except that her witchy gray hair poked out underneath at the base of her neck.
I gathered that she had bad gas, a rank foot order problem, a yeast infection - any nasty thing you could possibly buy to embarrass yourself with at the checkout this woman had in her cart. And she accompanied each item she unloaded onto the pharmacy desk - much to the chagrin of the ladies behind the counter - with a story on why she needed this or that product.
Like how she noticed how the spaces between her toes smelled weird, so she though she might as well buy some Odor Eaters. I give her props, because Chris' grandma can hardly kneel down; this woman can actually BRING HER FOOT TO HER HEAD. Dude! I stood there totally impressed for a few minutes until she started asking whether or not this particular gas relief medicine would treat her farts' sting and smell.
Then I bit my lip so hard that it began to bleed.
I didn't want to laugh because I love old people and I love any old lady that even remotely resembles Phyllis Diller, and if I wasn't at the SWM I would've SWORN that this was her (if she's still alive. Still alive?). I caught some of the people waiting behind me rolling their eyes, but I assumed that it was because they couldn't be second in line, front row like me to enjoy the show.
Another register opened and I got and paid for my prescription. As I turned to leave, Phyllis touched me on the arm and briskly demanded that I turn around so she could see the front of my outfit. I was wearing a plain brown dressy t-shirt (don't ask), jeans, brown heels and a big chunky Xena Warrior Princess belt. (I have a fascination with ginormous belt buckles.)
"Oh, you look just DARLING," Phyllis said with her flat red lips. "I just love this belt. Tell me, where can I go to get a good scarf? I just love scarves, I'm new here and I need to know where the places are to shop."
"Uh..." I stammered, because Phyllis obviously mistook me for someone of fashion and would laugh her wrinkled arse off if she knew that I exclusively clothes-shopped at Target and Old Navy. I told her such and her eyes dimmed.
"I'm sorry, I've got two kids and the only other places I know of that might suit you are the boutiques in Clayton," I responded.
"Oh, okay," she replied, and then turned around to ask if there was anything on the market better than Beano.