Nothing to See Here…

This morning, I woke up at 5:30AM.  Me - the perpetually tired one.  I could not fall back asleep.  My mind was swimming with all that needed to be done.

Now, I covered a lot of it yesterday - the kids have been to see Santa (get the hell up there on the fat man’s lap, hurry, snap that damn picture, I’m on a schedule) and we sent the damn cards and we bought the damn tree.  Fa-la-la-la-fucking-la.

So today we’re decking the halls.  And, dammit, I wanted one of those bags - those big tree sized bags that you put down before the tree goes up so that later, when the tree is ready to come down, you don’t drag it through the house in such a way that the fucking pine needles plague you for the next 11 months and you finally get them all up minutes before the 2007 tree gets bought.  I needed that big-ass tree bag.  This is what my mind was thinking at 5:30AM in bed.

And wiper blades.  I needed wiper blades.

And some other stuff.

So I reached over to my husband and gave him a 5 minute hand job (see how nice of a wife I am?) and then whispered “Honey, I’m going to Walmart.”

Oh, I know all about the evils of Walmart.  Don’t go lecturing me.  And, frankly, I hate the place with a passion.  (Although?  Their new prescription drug scheme is awesome.  Makes my heart swell with Christmas spirit to know some overweight dude named Mac with severe hypertension from eating too many funnel cakes and who has no insurance is getting his Rx for that dirt cheap, ya know?)  But Walmart is on the 24 hour clock and did I mention it was 5:45AM?

I went to Target yesterday afternoon and how I got out of there without slitting my wrists, well, I couldn’t tell you.  But I know I needed that tree bag and the wiper blades and fabric softener sheets and so Walmart it was.

I slinked out of bed in my big white t-shirt and decided “Hey, it’s 5:45AM, who’s gonna see me?” so I pulled on some grey sweat pants, put on a ball cap without even brushing my hair, slipped my tennis shoes on with no socks, and marched my braless self out to the car.  I normally don’t go out braless because, well, you know - I don’t need all the men following me around like the pied fucking piper (or so I tell myself) but I figured with the coat on, no one would be the wiser.

So off I went.

Just me driving through town waking up the early birds, even, on a quiet Sunday morn.  Ahhhhh….. 

But it was hotter than hades in that store (but? wonderfully empty) and so the coat came off.

As I was checking out with my Yogos and generic hair detangler for children and those Christmas cookie festive storage tins and so many other things, here is what I thought:  I AM THE WALMART HOOSIER!  I am the 250 pound braless woman with her hair unkempt and no socks with untied shoe laces.  Me!  The one everyone makes fun of - it’s ME.

And I laughed like the crazy woman I am and got in my car and drove home (where? everyone is still sleeping.)

I unpacked the fabric softener and the hair detangler and the rest of it only to realize I didn’t buy the fucking Christmas tree bag that will save me from 11 months of pine needles.  Sonofabitch.  The main thing I went to get and I didn’t get it.

I can’t go back.  Hold me, I’m skeered.