We are looking at ice and snow so I faced Wal-fart to stock up.
Okay, going to Wal Fart is like getting type cast in a horror movie you didn't know you auditioned for.
Though I did put back the slim jim can because of it. #subliminalworksforme
Are you ready? I'm about to blow your mind with some prescription strength stupidity.
So today is kind of a sucky day for my self esteem. I have a Marilyn Monroe pimple. (You know, where she had her sexy mole)
Whatever, that shit happens, but then I decide to curl my hair with hot rollers and leave them on too long so I look like Orphan Annie. Then I decide to wear the velour sweat suit my mom gave me. It is the height of retirement community chic. But where the fuck am I going to ever wear it beside fucking Wal-Mart. Plus, I will match the natives. Whatever. Drop girlchild off at school, head to the DeathStar.
Now, the combination of velour pants and Wal-Mart carts is fucking deadly. I became electric with no control over what and where I would crack out another lightening bolt. I was a backfiring super hero. So that not only sucks, tit hurts. So as gorgeous as I look this morning I wasn't exactly expecting some male attention. Butt alas, Static Electric woman is hardcore sexy for swarthy, small serial killers.
So, I'm walking down the frozen aisle swinging my rock hard, picnic table wide ass like I always do looking for chicken nuggets when an alarm goes off in my head.
"Danger asshole, pay attention" says my reptilian brain.
So I snap up my gaze and lock eyes with a small, intense adult man. Bundled in many layers. And we hold each other's attention. And he has got the "bringing sexy back" come hither stare down--or so he thinks. That extra long eye contact is a dangerous thing. And in order to pull it off, dudes have to convey, "Hello pretty lady."
This guy could only communicate, "If we were alone in my basement you would be wearing nothing but monkey fur and handcuffs while I masturbated vigorously to the Teletubbies."
I refused to look away, spurring him on I'm sure with my sexy pimple and my need to make sure he wasn't carrying any Taser guns.
Could you imagine? The velour mixed with the taser? It would have been like a nuclear bomb. Chicken nuggets would be strewn everywhere.
So I guess I accidentally flirted with a manic. I'm betting he thought I wanted him to nail me against the Buffalo wings and make me beg like someone on a fixed budget with an expired coupon at the check out counter.