Well alright. You asked for it. As I hinted in the last post, something more embarassing than Montezuma’s Revenge happened last week. It wasn’t on the cruise, but rather, the night before we left. You know how it goes–you spend the days before a vacation hurrying around making sure you put out all the fires at the office, getting your hair did, your clothes back from the cleaners. It’s little wonder that the actual packing usually doesn’t happen until the very last minute, and such was the case for us.
Halfway through packing, on the night before we flew out, we realized that there were several things we were going to need to pick up before we left. Sunscreen, maybe a book or two to read, that kind of thing. So off we went to the local Wal Mart (which, I’m convinced, is where they get half of those photos from the People of Wal Mart site). We packed up our baskets with lip balm and sunscreen. I made a pass through the healthy foods aisle and picked up a handful of women’s protein bars. (These are not only much much cheaper than other brands, but were specifically recommended by my nutritionist as something to have on hand when my blood sugar tanks–I’ve no idea what makes them women’s–the list of ingredients is the same as any other meal bar.) But they are pink, with little dancing women all over them, and clearly labeled as a nutrional supplement for the fairer sex. Witness:
Several of my friends had recommended the book “Water For Elephants” as a good vacation read, so I picked it up too. It was a great book, and soon to be a movie starring that sparkly boy from the Twilight flicks. The cover of the book features a shot from the film, which makes it look like some dreary romance novel whose pages might outline a heroine who spends her days falling onto a fainting couch and allowing her hands to trace “the rising sex” of her lover. (Who in hell finds such melodrama romantic?).
We also made a swing through the “family planning” section, as I am not too proud to admit that I hoped a Caribbean breeze might make Darling reconsider “waiting for marriage.” As we headed to the front of the store, I remarked that we were most certainly using the self checkouts, as my purchases included “estrogen bars, a romance novel, condoms, and personal lubricant. The clerk will think I’m either a tranny or the personal assistant for some menopausal woman.”
As we were heading out of Wal Mart, we realized that there was nothing at home to eat for dinner that night. Luckily, in the lobby, there is a Subway, so we popped in for a little sammich. Why on Earth we decided to eat it there rather than in the comfort of our own home a mile away is beyond me. We have NEVER eaten IN that Subway before in our lives, even though we frequently get carryout there. But, there we were, perched on a high top table, enjoying our meal, when there was a thud.