Yet Another Friday Night Shopping Trip

Back with you live (not really) with a new blog post! Apologies for the delays. It seems like most of my life of late has been apologizing for delays. Oh, well.

I've still got a Friday Hate almost ready, maybe I'll do it tonight (which means I won't). But for now, I shall regale you with my latest trip to Kohl's, which always seems to give rise to hilarity.

Every now and then I like to buy clothes. I'm not a shopping kind of person, but once and a while (usually when I have no clean laundry), I decide that I need a new shirt, sweater, bulge-enhancing pair of slacks, or some sort of doo-dad for my hat.

So I went there Monday night, and got a shirt, and got in line.

I don't know about you, but I find waiting in long lines insufferable. Often times I amuse myself by playing Yahtzee on my phone, or checking the latest NBA news. However, on this particular trip, my phone was dying, so I had to find another way to amuse myself.

In front of me was an attractive older lady with a kid that was probably around ten years old. They were shopping for some stupid birthday present, and I found myself listening to their conversation.

I don't know if it was because I was bored, but I became convinced that the ten-year-old kid in front of me was actually mentally retarded. I'm not an expert on child development, but if this kid wasn't retarded, he was fucking stupid.

He was giggling all the time, wandering away, and generally behaving like a snot-nosed little prick. Which seems normal for ten-year-old, after all, I'm pretty sure I was a snot-nosed little prick at that age, but I was still convinced.

"Uh....excuse me ma'am, but I have you ask you a question. Is that kid fucking retarded or something?"

I wanted to ask that in the worst way, but I figured a dose of pepper spray would be the only response, so I kept my mouth shut.

The people behind me were even worse. They were a couple in their late twenties, and let me tell you, they had the market cornered on drawing attention to themselves.

Within thirty seconds of standing in line, I knew that they were in the process of getting married, and they were talking as loud as possible about registering for gifts and all that other bull shit.

I don't know what it is about twenty-somethings that are engaged/married, but 90% of them want the entire fucking world to know that they are getting married.

I don't give a fuck. No one gives a fuck. You're not better than me (well, chances are they are). Just because you spent Valentine's Day with candlelight, wine and lovemaking, and I spent it masturbating with my own tears as lubrication doesn't mean you're better than me.

Wow, apparently we just entered dark territory. Let's move on.

I don't know if you've even been on one of those lines where there is a big line that feeds into multiple cashier, but that's the kind I found myself in. And here's the thing about those lines:

There is always two or three cashiers. And out of those two or three, only one is a remotely attractive female. The other two are ugly ladies/old men, which when you think about it, are the same thing.

And I never get the hot cashier. No matter how much it looks like I will, some stupid fuck always manages to screw me out of thirty seconds of banter with a female that will keep the darkness away for just a few precious hours.

As I was thinking to myself how I never get the hot cashier, lo and behold, she was waving me over to her.

I gave a nod and a grunt, and then I grabbed my junk in a deliberate manner, so she would see that I am indeed a virile male capable of reproducing. Reproducing all over her face.

I think that threw her off her game a bit. Either that, or she was naturally an ice queen, because I got absolutely nothing. Not even an invitation to sign up for a Kohl's credit card, which is usually a given.

Bitch. I'll have the last laugh when I'm savaging myself to your face in about 35 minutes.