I went to Walmart today. Yip. I heart Walmart.
And, incidentally, I had never set foot in a Walmart until about eight months ago when I mentioned this sad fact to my friend, Mo. She looked at me like I had ten heads.
“Oh. my. god. woman. Go. Go now.”
And I did.
Thank you, Mo.
Anyhoo. I went today to buy poster board, a bunch of stickers and some size 3 boys underpants. Because I’m entering the wild n crazy world of potty training Little Brother. Or, in other words, I’m a prisoner in my house for the next three days — tightly clutching my Bounty, my Brawny and my fragile sanity. Little Brother is nothing if not an enthusiastic participant in the whole process. He’s all fired up about going on the potty like his “big brudder” and thus far makes a trip to the bathroom roughly every 3 point 2 seconds to try again. And again. And again.
Every fourth trip or so, we seem to produce a few drops and celebrate with hoots, happy dances and a new sticker on the chart.
No accidents thus far but seeing as he’s spent the majority of his morning in the can, the odds are with him.
So, yeah. Walmart. You guys know about the hilarious website dedicated to the people of Walmart? Well, now that Walmart and I are BFFs, I’ve been thinking the whole Walmart shopper stereotype is a bit unjust.
But then today I was browsing the sticker aisle when first I smelled (Is that Peach Boone’s?) then saw an older (ahem) gentleman to my right. He asked me if I worked at Walmart, which might have been a blow to my self-esteem, had he not slurred the words through a cracker-infested beard and peered at me through half-mast eyelids. I said no but pointed to an associate just down the aisle.
He stumbled a few feet towards the little lamb restocking shelves.
I’m sorry, sir. What can I help you with?
She looked at me helplessly. I shrugged. No idea. Sorry.
Vrdka?! Vrdka?! Ugitanyvrdka?!?
Oh, no sir. I’m sorry. We don’t sell vodka at Walmart.
Damn. Where is my camera phone when I need it?