Every day I wake up, look in the mirror and wonder how much spackle and KILZ it's going to take to make me acceptable to the good people of the world. Everyday it's a little more than the day before.
I share this bit of insecurity to let you know I'm aware I am not the Queen of beauty. That way when I fling open the door of my glass house and commence to hurling rocks at the neighbors, you will understand that I know perfectly well what I'm doing.
Today we went to Sam's Club and I have no idea why. For years I have had a membership that I don't use because I cannot fathom a time when I will actually have need of a can of beans so big, it can serve as a foot stool. While I'm sure furniture sized containers of beans are super dooper to have on hand if you're a hobo who enjoys both beans and places to put your feet up after a long day of hopping the rails, normal Americans should not own such a thing.
Sam's Club is built around the premise that they serve the business person. I'm sure that is true. Today for example I purchased an 80 pound bag of sugar that was strictly work related. Remember that Mary Poppins song?
"A big vat full of sugar helps the idiots at work go down... in the most delightful way".
So while walking the aisles picking up crazy large things and saying, "Hey maybe we can use a drum full of tuna fish," or "How have we lived our entire lives without the convenience of 14 bottles of fabric softener shrink wrapped together?" I began to notice other Sam's Club shoppers. Mainly because they kept running over me with their carts and their snot blowing kids.
I don't think most of these people realized that cases of Snickers are really meant for resale or that boxes of orange-cheese-substance and chips are meant for truck stops. I got the impression by both the size of their behinds and the size of their crying kid's behinds that most of those Snickers would be gone before they get half way home.
As you may know, a grand feature of Sam's are the hair net wearing people stationed every three feet with snacks for customers to try. Today I nearly died in a head on collision with a woman in a tank top who was clearly out of her mind with starvation. I had no business being between her and a sample of a Jimmy Deans breakfast biscuit.
Death would have been my own damn fault but no one would ever know for sure what killed me as an autopsy can't be performed on a body that was eaten by a fat woman in the Frozen Country Music Singer Breakfast section of a super-mart.
I watched as one woman and her "little" girl damn near had simultaneous strokes when they discovered that Keebler had come out with packages of cookies that could feed an entire cookie deprived nation. Or just the two of them.
I'm talking boxes of cookies so big that if I cut a door in the front, both my Yorkies could invite all their dog friends over to their bachelor pad for tea and cookies. (And butt licking 'cause that's just how they roll.)
So what did I buy? I bought so much cheese, I could build that fictional MouseVille Stephen King was talking about in The Green Mile. I bought Edamame and sliced turkey and biscotti.
I don't really like biscotti, by the way. It tastes like a cross between a bread stick and cookie I found at the bottom of a purse I last carried in 1985. But they looked so pretty, all 247 of them, wrapped in cellophane and displayed in that giant container. I had to own them.
PS: Biscotti contest coming soon. There will be 247 first prizes. You're welcome.