A Wal-Mart Tale

Today was Laundry Day, which meant I piled all available clothing in a basket to wash. Some of you know what this means: I pulled out a pair of spandex workout pants, threw on a tanktop, and then included a hooded sweatshirt (because of the, oh, FIVE INCHES OF SNOW ON THE GROUND). This get-up was worth it, because I now have a whole closet full of clean, fresh-smelling clothing, and a bed full of clean, freshly-laundered sheets.

Then the time came for the trip to Wal-Mart. I figured, hey, it's Wal-Mart, they're used to spandex, so I threw my coat on over my charming outfit and hopped (okay, slid; again, with the ice and the snow) into the car.

I have no idea what sort of category of people I have officially joined as of this evening. The Society of People Who Wear Trashy Clothing to Wal-Mart and Try To Locate a Mate in the Gun Section, probably, which is why I avoided the hunting aisle like the plague. Although I did have to pass it twice in my quest for a nice little houseplant, but no one popped out in camouflage and carried me away.

And now I have ten happy little boxes of mac & cheese sitting in my cupboard, waiting for me; what a nice little family we make.