Formal Shopping

Oops

We ran out of milk. I was designated the "milk-getter" since it was my fault we ran out (note: Despite what you may think, milk does not make a good shaving gel).

I burned my hand on the car door (it was 103 degrees outside!). I seared off my fingerprints on the steering wheel (103 degrees!). On the way, I passed an ice cream truck that had melted and some roadkill that had burst into flame (103!).

Queen Spoo would be proud

I finally got to the store. My car was slowly sinking into the puddled asphalt as I went inside (103 degrees!). I had planned to just grab milk and go, but was distracted by the woman in a purple evening gown.

This woman was dressed like it was a black-tie affair. She was smiling expansively while swaying gently to the store's muzac. She looked like she should be holding a martini and a waltz partner, not a shopping cart and a frozen lasagna.

The guy she was with? Shorts and a t-shirt. Flip-flops vs. Heels. They were quite the pair.

That's the last time I buy ice cream from the Wicked Witch of the West

She nodded in appreciation as I walked by and tipped me 20 bucks. I think she thought I was the valet.

By the time I got home, the milk had already curdled into cottage cheese (103 degrees!).

I guess I'll need to rent a tux and go pick up another gallon.