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Doesn't Matter What It Is
Sep. 1st, 2019 08:48 amRemember slips?
I needed a slip.
If I didn’t have a slip, I’d be showing up at my dead X-husband’s funeral with a visible panty line.
So, I went to the mall.
Malls are kind of like Las Vegas for me. I can take Las Vegas—I can actually enjoy Las Vegas—for precisely 36 hours.
At the end of which time, I get angsty and weird, and start praying for a massive extinction event.
Malls have a shorter expiration date. I can take malls for precisely an hour and a half.
I trotted around to six stores. My first time venturing into Victoria’s Secrets! I was expecting Victoria’s Secret to be this upscale Frederick of Hollywood’s, an architectural vagina filled with bras that turn you into Ava Gardener the moment you slip one on and panties with tiny vibrators embedded into their seams. But, no-o-o-o. Victoria’s Secrets was pretty boring. So pink. So overpriced.
Tar-jay was the last store I went to. And it was the only one that carried slips.
I hate shopping, so Tar-jay is usually the only store I go into because let’s face it, you can find everything in the world at Tar-jay!
But if I’d gone into Tar-jay first, then I wouldn’t have had the opportunity to drop big bank replenishing my personal makeup supplies.
And here I am decked out in all my new personal makeup supplies:
In the evening, I cooked up 15 pounds of tomatoes into a very good pasta sauce, and we had an impromptu dinner party. Nutty Neighbor Steve was the guest of honor.
“You know, when it happens in New York City, those people are gonna get in their cars and drive,” Steve told me. “And they’re gonna run out of gas in Dutchess County! And then, they’re gonna try to break into our houses, steal our supplies, steal our food! So you need to get a gun.”
“When what happens in New York City?” I asked.
Steve looked exasperated. “It. Doesn’t matter what it is! It could be a foreign invasion. It could be a stock market crash. It could be an epidemic like in that Stephen King book, The Shining—“
“The Stand,” I corrected.
Steve rolled his eyes. “What. Ever. The point is you need to be prepared.”
Then he asked me if I’d like to go to the shooting range with him.
It must be the new makeup!
And actually, I would like to go to the shooting range.
But not with Steve.
I needed a slip.
If I didn’t have a slip, I’d be showing up at my dead X-husband’s funeral with a visible panty line.
So, I went to the mall.
Malls are kind of like Las Vegas for me. I can take Las Vegas—I can actually enjoy Las Vegas—for precisely 36 hours.
At the end of which time, I get angsty and weird, and start praying for a massive extinction event.
Malls have a shorter expiration date. I can take malls for precisely an hour and a half.
I trotted around to six stores. My first time venturing into Victoria’s Secrets! I was expecting Victoria’s Secret to be this upscale Frederick of Hollywood’s, an architectural vagina filled with bras that turn you into Ava Gardener the moment you slip one on and panties with tiny vibrators embedded into their seams. But, no-o-o-o. Victoria’s Secrets was pretty boring. So pink. So overpriced.
Tar-jay was the last store I went to. And it was the only one that carried slips.
I hate shopping, so Tar-jay is usually the only store I go into because let’s face it, you can find everything in the world at Tar-jay!
But if I’d gone into Tar-jay first, then I wouldn’t have had the opportunity to drop big bank replenishing my personal makeup supplies.
And here I am decked out in all my new personal makeup supplies:
In the evening, I cooked up 15 pounds of tomatoes into a very good pasta sauce, and we had an impromptu dinner party. Nutty Neighbor Steve was the guest of honor.
“You know, when it happens in New York City, those people are gonna get in their cars and drive,” Steve told me. “And they’re gonna run out of gas in Dutchess County! And then, they’re gonna try to break into our houses, steal our supplies, steal our food! So you need to get a gun.”
“When what happens in New York City?” I asked.
Steve looked exasperated. “It. Doesn’t matter what it is! It could be a foreign invasion. It could be a stock market crash. It could be an epidemic like in that Stephen King book, The Shining—“
“The Stand,” I corrected.
Steve rolled his eyes. “What. Ever. The point is you need to be prepared.”
Then he asked me if I’d like to go to the shooting range with him.
It must be the new makeup!
And actually, I would like to go to the shooting range.
But not with Steve.
