And all the pain
Only after the rain
Can you live again

Have you tried buying unscented deodorant lately?

Such a product has become increasingly hard to find, as the makers of personal hygiene products seem to think we all need to smell like scented carpet cleaners.

Man, I would rather smell like my own sweat — YES! Even that really bad sweat that smells like Spaghetti-O’s! — than some of these awful, powdery, flowery deodorants.

I like lightly scented soaps and body wash, but they just haven’t made a smelly deodorant that smells good. If I had to wear a smelly deodorant, it would share the same qualities as my favorite air fresheners and boast an aroma of  “Seabreeze” or “Fresh Linen” or “After the Rain.” But time and time again, I’m fooled into thinking I’ll smell like freshly laundered towels left outside during a summer rainstorm, only to end up stinking like old lady talcum powder.

My recent triumph over finally finding an unscented roll-on was short-lived. After describing my deodorant woes to Dave, he responded, “Yeah, I noticed when we were out last weekend you had these big white smudges under your arms.”

. . .

I glared at him for one second before running into the bathroom to perform a test.

Nooooooooo!!! Unsightly white underarm circles of horror!!!

So much for unscented.

I headed to the store to find the least obnoxious flavor of deodorant that WOULDN’T turn my underarm region into The White Pits of Dover. According to my research, women can choose from four basic smells: Powder, Clean, Flower, and WTF.

The “Powder” group:

• Powder Burst
• Powder Fresh
• Powder Romance
• Sheer Powder
• Smooth Powder
• Tropical Powder

The “Clean,” “Pure,” or “Fresh” group:

• Completely Clean
• Fresh Fusion
• Daringly Fresh
• Morning Clean
• Pure Clean
• Pure Rain
• Shower Clean
• Shower Fresh
• Totally Fresh
• Wildflower Fresh

The “Flower” group

• Delicate Bloom
• Diva la Daisy
• Honeysuckle
• Refreshingly Floral
• Sweet Pea and Viola
• Truth or Pear (???)
• Va-Va Vanilla
• Wild Cherry Blossom
• Wild Freesia

The “Maddeningly Vague” group:

• Classic Romance
• Green Euphoria
• Just Dance
• Regular
• Satiny Tropical
• Sexy Intrigue
• Tropical Paradise

If you’re a man, you can smell like anything that makes you think of an erection:

• Cool Peak
• Extreme Blast
• Fresh Blast
• Game Day
• Matterhorn
• Pacific Surge
• Power Play
• Power Rush

So basically women are supposed to smell like powder and men are supposed to smell like power. I am just not down with that. I want to smell like an erection! I bought Pacific Surge, because it contained both an ocean reference and the promise of some sort of  . . . well, surge. I could use a surge. Maybe not in my armpits, but who am I to be picky?

I’ll let you know how it works out. And PLEASE! Tell me if you’ve found an unscented no-residue deodorant. I’ll send you my partially used Power Surge as a token of my gratitude.

___________________

Soggy flowers came from here

A living box of candy wrapped up so very fine
Do it to me chewy chew me out of my mind

I thought I’d dreamed it.

I saw it. I bought it. I ate it. I loved it. And I dreamed about it.

But then, was it all a dream, after all?

NO!

Because my favorite candy blog, CandyBlog, wrote THIS.

Yes, it’s real. A Milky Way bar with ONLY the caramel part. Brilliance! No more of that annoying fluffy noughat. It’s JUST THE CARAMEL! (I don’t think you quite understand the significance of this . . . but then, neither do I.)

Oh, I know. You could go out and buy a Caramello, and believe me, I WILL, but this is news. Big news.

Weirdly, tho, the only place I’ve seen it is at PetSmart. Whaaat? Why PetSmart? Are pet owners known for their caramel love? I don’t know. But I do know that I can’t find this caramel-only Milky Way anywhere else. Of course, I could go back to PetSmart, but is it weird to go into a pet store and buy just a candy bar? Or, to more more precise, 50 candy bars?

Ah, Milky Way With Only Caramel. How you haunt me, with your awkward name and noughat-less filling. Wow, “noughat” is one weird-looking word, isn’t it. Am I spelling that right?

Apparently not.

Anyway, as I was saying, OH, Milky Way. How little I really know about you. Let’s learn more, shall we? First, we shall check out the all-knowing Wikipedia for some Milky Way facts.

The Milky Way, or simply the Galaxy, is the galaxy in which the Solar System is located. It is a barred spiral galaxy that is part of . . .

Well, THAT doesn’t sound very delicious.

OK, here we have a more reliable source on the Milky Way CANDY BAR, Wikipedia!

Oh, my God. I am home.

People are actually writing ODES to the Milky Way on this site.

Oh, caramel. You are my sweet piece of heaven. Mmm. [punctuation added by JD]

So fluffy. So creamy. So chocolatey. So Milky Way.

Oh, Milky Way, how you satiate my intense longing for something sweet.

Milky Your Way to a delicious Milky Way bar, dark or light, frozen or not.

That last one was kind of lame, yes? I think I can come up with something better.

Milky Way, your chocolate robe
Covers the most modest of fillings.
Sweet caramel — nothing else!
This shy maiden lies silent, waiting to be discovered.
Milky Way, fling open your chocolate robe!
And let the mouth chomp away on your hidden secret.

AND IN THIS CHOMPING, let there be . . .

OK, that first stanza is probably enough. Oh, but what a stanza it is.

Dang! The Milky Way site only let me submit the first two lines. Stupid.

Anyway, I hope you’ll all create your own ode to the Milky Way and submit it, both here and on the Milky Way site.

And head out to your local PetSmart and try the new Milky Way With Only Caramel!

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She had hair like Jeannie Shrimpton
Back in 1965

It’s Bumpits! The famous as-seen-on-TV “hair volumizing leave-in inserts!

(Careful. When you visit the Bumpits site, a loud voice tells you that “Bumpits is PUMPING UP the volume!” That may be your cue to turn your volume off.)

Anyway, for the two of you who haven’t heard about this fashion trend, Bumpits is a curvey comb device that allows your hair to “go from flat to fabulous in seconds!”

What the hell does that mean? Well, you know how those ladies from the ’60s had those big hair-bumps? That look was attained through lots of teasing and hairspray. With Bumpits, you can forget about the teasing (but not the hairspray . . . or the teasing, now that I read the fine print).

Basically you stick one of these Bumpits (3 sizes and four colors!) into the back of your head, comb your hair over it, and layer your hair with an inch-thick coat of hairspray. Cool!

The coolest part? I bought a Bumpits.

Seriously! I shelled out $10 for a freaking Bumpits, JUST to try it out for YOU (and me). Because I know you’re not gonna go out and buy a Bumpits. It’s just too embarrassing.

It’s WAY too embarrassing to buy JUST a Bumpits. Get some chocolate and muscle relaxers too.

This smiling model shows you the “before” (FLAT!) and “after” (FABULOUS!)

Behold the Bumpits! You also get a how-to brochure and a stylin’ comb!

(Look at that mini-Bumpit. Who would use that? Seriously, it’s the size of an infant’s pinkie cut in half.)

Anyway, enough of this silliness. I know what you want. And here it comes.

JD: Before Bumpits

“JD! What’s wrong? You look so sad . . . and flat-headed.”
“I wish I had one of those cool hair-bumps like you see on movie stars.”
“Is that why you look so blurry?”
“No, I was just Photoshopping out my wrinkles.”
“I see.”

JD: After Bumpits

WOW! My new Bumpits has changed my whole appearance. I’m happier and more lipsticky! It’s kinda of hard to see the hair-bump, tho. I played around a bit more . . .

JD: Not Quite Getting the Bumpits

I see London
I see France
I see JD’s Bumpits . . . pants?

Yeah. Despite my weirdly artificial smile, it’s almost impossible to fix your hair so the Bumpits doesn’t show.

Finally . . .

JD: After Bumpits and a Little Help

Voila? OK, I’ll admit. It took some extra pins, rope, and Krazy Glue to create the hair-bump of my dreamz. I don’t know WHAT it looked like from behind. Also it fell over immediately after I took this photo.

Bumpits: Yea or Nay?

I’m sorry. It’s a “nay.” It was too hard to get the comb in place AND to get the hair to cover it. And I have a lot of hair.

The insert never felt very secure, either. How embarrassing would it be to have your Bumpits fall out at a fancy party? “Oh, that’s just a barrette,” you’d nervously say, trying to shove it into your purse. “NO IT’S NOT IT’S A BUMPITS!” everyone would shriek, and BANG! now you’re a pariah AND your hair is flat AND you know what else?

I can’t read the word “bumpits” without thinking of a bum’s armpits.

Oh, well. At least I have a free comb.

__________________________________

Beehive came from here

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Call me now baby, and I’d come a running

Have you bought a phone recently? It seems you can’t buy just one phone anymore. You automatically get all these extra bonus phones. I could see the point of more phones if we all weren’t using cordless phones already, but now with the technology that allows us to walk from room to room with one phone . . . why do we need four?

I tried to convince the guy at Best Buy to give me fewer phones for fewer dollars, but he was not programmed for such an exchange.

“Look, I only need one, so I’ll just take one, and pay you a quarter of the price.”

“Did you need a wireless headset with that?”

Grr.

Just what I need in my life: more phones. Because I hate talking on the phone, you see, and I’m convinced that the more phones I have, the more phone calls I’ll get. I’m picturing each of these four phones ringing constantly, with me running breathlessly from room to room, trying to answer them, all while my cake is burning in the oven and the kitchen is filling up with smoke.

Which is ridiculous, because I don’t even answer the one phone we have now. Nor do I bake, but that burning cake always seems to be part of the scenario.

Of course, I don’t have to USE them all, but I have four phones, I PAID for four phones, I WANT my four damn phones.

So now the person who never talks on the phone has a phone in every room.

I actually feel like a very wealthy celebrity, with my four phones. Except, of course, I forget the phone that’s right over there, and keep walking ALL THE WAY into the office to wait for the phone to stop ringing so I can listen to the message so I can delete it.

Oh, and we now have speakerphone capability. I was pretty excited about this feature, as I imagined talking to clients while taking a shower or baking a cake (again: not part of my actual real life).

I tested the speakerphone on my mom.

“OK, you’re on speakerphone! Can you hear me?”

“You could talk a little softer.”

“How about now?”

“Still softer.”

I moved the phone a few feet away.

“Now? Too loud?”

“Yes! Still too loud.”

I went into the other room and whispered,

“Can you hear me?”

Pause.

“It could still be softer.”

So the speakerphone part is kind of a dud.

Plus I keep losing phones. When the battery dies, they start chirping. This invariably happens in the middle of the night. I don’t know why that tiny, innocuous chirping sound is so terrifying when it wakes you up, but it is. One phone is gone for good, tho. If it ever chirped, I didn’t hear it.

Wherever it is, maybe it’s finally far enough away from my mouth for the speakerphone to be effective. I’d love to replace it so I can have all four phone holders filled with phones again, but what are the odds of being able to buy just one phone?

About the same as me baking a cake.

And oh, what heights we’ll hit

0

BACKGROUND
For years, Dave has been searching for Quisp.

THE PRESENT
I’m leafing thru a flyer for a high-end grocery store called Fresh Market. They’re known for their produce, deli section, and incredible baked goods. Apparently, they are now also known for selling Quisp, because there it is.

Quisp Cereal, originally released in 1965, is a sugar-sweetened, saucer-shaped cereal with a similar taste to Cap’n Crunch but with a softer texture. Quisp was frequently advertised alongside another cereal by Quaker Oats—Quake—in successful cartoon ads.

Holy Quap! I left the flyer out for Dave to burst a blood vessel over and went to bed.

AND THEN
Now, I’m not sure Dave fully understands the nature of physics and time and quantum mechanics, because the next morning he asked, “Will there be Quisp for breakfast?”

“Uh, no. I can get you some. When do you want it?”

“Now.”

“How about tomorrow.”

Later I received a forwarded e-mail from Dave titled: “Making a Quisp Run,” asking if I could also pick up a box for his friend Scott. OK, do you want one for your other little friends? What about Mikey and Robbie?

I read Dave’s e-mail to Scott:

I loved it back in 1975. I might give myself the whole nostalgia treatment when I take the first bite, maybe try to find an old Bugs Bunny cartoon. I wonder if I have any old jammies from back then. The comforter from my bed? An old song? Maybe “Seasons in the Sun” by Terry Jacks.

When did I marry a five-year-old?

QUISP: THEN AND NOW

What’s missing?

____________

QUAKE V. QUISP
Do you remember the infamous Quake vs. Quisp contest? It was . . . well, let’s let “crazy amy” from In the 70s explain it:

Quisp and Quake cereals had a contest: whichever kind sold the most boxes in a period of time would be the champion and the other would be taken off the market. Quisp won. I loved them both—it was worse than your parents getting divorced—at least you still got to see your dad. I never saw Quake again. If only I had eaten more Quake or spent more time with it—maybe it was my fault! Please come back Quake—I love you—please write.

SO FINALLY
Quisp Day. I found the Bugs Bunny intro on YouTube and played it while Dave prepared his Quisp. No, he was not wearing his jammies from the 70s, but he did have a Gilligan’s Island episode queued up.

I watched him nervously.

It was . . . good.

It was really good!

It was AS good as he remembered!!!

Phew.

BUT THEN
A few days later, I asked Dave if he was still basking in the Quisp glow. “Nah,” he said. “It’s really just like Cap’n Crunch.”

On with the show, this was it.

__________________________

• Watch! The Quisp commercial
• Learn! More about the mysterious alien Quisp
• Buy! Quisp online

Pour a little sugar on it, honey

Oh, boy, oh, boy, OH, BOY!

My new cereal marshmallows are here!

Remember that whole cereal marshmallow debacle? You can read about it here, or you might prefer to enjoy this brief summary:

I ordered some cereal marshmallows online, and they sucked.

And, of course, I had to write a post about it. Well, guess what happened, my little bloglings? Not long after that post appeared, I got an e-mail:

Hi there. This is about your marshmallows on your blog.

Uh-oh.

It was the owner of the cereal marshmallow site! RUN! HIDE! But I didn’t. I kept reading:

I thought your post about it was funny except for one thing . . . you weren’t happy with my product. Now that makes me angry . . . and you didn’t tell me . . . now I’m angrier.

CRAP! Cereal Marshmallow Guy is going to get me! But no. He had added a little smiley face to show he was only kidding. Turns out, he is a really nice guy who can’t bear having an unhappy customer. He said he must’ve sent me the “kosher” marshmallows, which are not made with gelatin (apparently a key ingredient to a successful cereal marshmallow). He insisted on sending me a new shipment of marshmallows, free of charge.

Awww!

Well, if you’ve been to his site, you know he doesn’t just sell cereal marshmallows. When I excitedly opened my box, in addition to three beautiful bags of colorful, extra-gelatin marshmallows, I found:

LOOKIT!

So much cool stuff! That hat says, “Pimpjuice,” by the way, and I totally rock it. Energy supplements, 2 awesome T-shirts, stickers . . . wow! I was thrilled but also terrified. What if these cereal marshmallows sucked too? Would I be forced to write a bad “review,” even after receiving all this cool swag?

I was so excited to run out and buy some cereal to accompany my cereal marshmallows! But first, a 4-hour nap. Then, on to Walgreen’s, my one-stop shop for junk food and drugs. Last time I tried the marshmallows with Rice Krispies, but this time, no shilly-shallying. I went straight for the hard stuff:

I made my cereal base:

Then added the marshmallows:

A cautious chomp. Another more enthusiastic chomp. The verdict?

THEY ARE DELICIOUS!

And just look at that sweet, sugary marshmallow dust:

What a relief. My search for the perfect cereal marshmallow—which has been going on for, what, a whole month?—has ended.

Please visit this guy’s site and buy some cereal marshmallows today. Why not get a Pimpjuice hat while you’re at it?

____________________________________________

Humor-Blogs has the coolest swag.

Please, don’t wake me, no, don’t shake me

Driving to Starbuck’s while you’re still asleep is a bad idea for several reasons.

But who can think reasonably when you’re asleep?

Oh, don’t worry. I survived the trip, and I’m pretty sure everyone else on the road did too.

(Sidenote: I don’t like the taste of Starbuck’s coffee, but I DO like their milky, foamy, sugary-sweet coffee drinks. The terribly bitter taste can easily be masked by milk and syrup and whipped cream and sprinkles and, if need be, a crumbled-up muffin.)

Even tho I was asleep, I was able to make the transaction: one venti latte, extra shot. However, I wasn’t expecting further questioning:

Do you want a 4th shot on the house?

Huh?

Do you want a 4th shot on the house?

Huh?

Do you want a 4th shot on the house?

Huh?

Do you want a 4th shot on the house?

Huh?

Do you want a 4th shot on the house?

Huh?

. . .

You’re already getting 3 shots. DO YOU WANT A 4th ONE FOR FREE?

Free? Why didn’t you say so! Hit me up!

Now I’m awake!

When I got home, I washed my hands before enjoying my latte. Those Starbucks doors are germy. It was then that I saw it.

A giant crease ran down the side of my face. It was one of those sleep lines you get from grinding your face into the pillow during a deep, blissful, snoozy slumber. It ran from temple to jaw, as big and deep as the San Andreas Fault.

And that, my friends, is how you get free stuff. Why don’t you try it tomorrow? Stagger into your favorite local coffee-ery and make sure you have a hideous jagged sleep line on your face. No doubt your kindly barrista will take pity on you and offer you a free shot.

And with all that caffeine, you won’t have to worry about sleep lines for a while.

_____________________________

The fourth shot is always free here.

It’s easy when you got all the information

I’ve bought some very cool stuff online recently. I got beautiful artwork from Kelly at Aerten Art, a kickass pair of Zumba shoes, and . . . pills! (link deleted) Yup, drugs by mail! That’s the way I roll.

Recently I made a rather ill-advised purchase (I was not on drugs). But I think you’ll understand why it was so irresistable.

Remember my Lucky Charms obsession, which compelled me to find the perfect charm-to-cereal ratio? Well, some brilliant reader named Punk Rebel Mama (link is somewhat NSFW—there are NIPPLES!) told me about this site where, in addition to cars, you can actually buy . . .

. . . CEREAL MARSHMALLOWS!

Yeah! Just the marshmallows! No pesky cereal to get in the way. So, in the interest of science and blogging, I shelled out $10.95 plus shipping to see how cereal marshmallows could improve my life.

The packaging was uninspiring, the colors a bit faded, and as for shapes . . . well, these are just blobs. No lucky moons or pink hearts.

But that’s OK. I’m about to realize my lifelong dream of eating a bowlful of cereal marshmallows:

HA! I’m kidding. I’m not completely crazy. First, I make a cereal base of Rice Krispies:

And then I apply the marshmallows:

Hmmm.That looks exactly like the bowl with only marshmallows. Funny.

Chomp, chomp, chomp. These definitely aren’t like Lucky Charm marshmallows. For one, where is the overwhelming sugary flavor? Something’s wrong if my teeth don’t hurt. And the texture is stupid. They’re either stale or extremely chewy.

These marshmallows suck, but I’ll at least eat this bowlful. For you.

Meanwhile, I still have approximately two and 3/4 bags left. I hate to waste perfectly good cereal marshmallows. There must be other uses for such a product?

Perhaps . . .

Crap! They’re actually eating them! Stop it! Prudence, I expected this of you, but Gus? I thought you had more sense.

(Prudence’s head is a blur because she moves like lightning any time ANY kind of food is within sniffing distance.)

OK, I can’t feed these to my cats. Not only is it unhealthy, but the ones they managed to eat before I snatched them away seemed to stick to their teeth.

What else can I do . . .

Pretend they’re candy?

A surprise for the postman?

A surprise for Dave?

A crappy prize in a future blog contest?

Fertilizer?

Packing peanuts?

Secret Santa?

Part of a craft project?

OK, now here is where you guys come in. I may do all these things so you don’t have to, but I NEED your help practically ALL the time! What can I do with these damn cereal marshmallows???

_________________

Don’t buy anything from these guys.

I want candy
I want bacon
I want . . . bleeeuuurggh

Every time I’m at Whole Foods, I see these enticingly packaged toy-sized candy bars. They are so wee. The brand is Vosges, and the label tells me they are “haute chocolate,” which is French for “pay out the ass.”

Intrigued by their size and the bizarre flavor combinations, I decided in the name of science and blogging to BUY and EAT two of these adorable, tiny, expensive candy bars so you don’t have to.

To give you an idea of just how small they are, here’s a picture of the two bars with an average-sized matchbook:

(

And here’s Gus checking out one of the bars:

Clearly, Gus does not approve. Look at his ears!

(

OK, a slightly blurry view of an unwrapped bar:

(

And a straight-on view:

Ridiculous.

(

The Barcelona Bar

The label says: “See . . . smell . . . snap . . . taste . . . feel . . . guided tasting notes inside. Deep milk chocolate melts into the mineral and sumptuous taste of sea salt and roasted almonds, reminiscent of Marcona, Spain.”

JD says: Despite all the ellipses, it’s good. It’s very good. The chocolate is rich, and the salty crunch is satisfying, but because the bar is so small and thin, I can’t really taste the difference between the almonds and the salt granules. As for the “guided tasting notes,” um . . . I like chocolate?

I could easily eat about 30 of these, stacked together to form a normal-sized candy bar. But I can barely afford one.

Mo’s Bacon Bar

The label says: “Rub your thumb over the chocolate bar to release the aromas of smoked applewood bacon flirting with deep milk chocolate. Snap off just a tiny piece and place it in your mouth, let the lust of salt and sweet coat your tongue.”

JD says: You can talk about lust all you want, I’m not rubbing my candy bar. I’ll snap off a tiny piece, tho, and voila! Half the bar is gone. I take a bite . . .

Oh, no. No. No, no, no, no. This is all wrong and terrible. There is bacon in my mouth. With chocolate. Who thought this was a good idea? This flavor combination is a sin against God and nature and all things sweet and salty. I guess I was expecting more of a bacon essence, but instead I got a nice-tasting candy bar studded with rubbery hunks of bacon.

I recommend the Barcelona Bar if you’re rich. As for the Bacon Bar, why don’t you just chew on some nice money? It will taste better and cost less. Or, may I direct you to:

JD’s Top 10 Candy Bars

1. Ritter Milk Chocolate with Biscuit
2. Caramello (giant size)
3. Milky Way
4. Wunderbar (Canadian)
5. Crunchie (British)
6. Coffee Crisp (Canadian)
7. 100 Grand
8. Kit Kat
9. Cadbury Dairy Milk Golden Crisp
10. Marathon (discontinued but available as a Curly Wurly)

(

If YOU want to eat expensive chocolate

• Spend a little more than $3.50
• Read Candy Addict‘s favorable review of Mo’s Bacon Bar
• Chowhounds discuss the best high-end chocolate bar

What’s your favorite chocolate?

_________________________

Humor-blogs will eat bacon with ANYthing.

Wait in line
‘Til your time

Every now and then, I like to do a nice thing to balance out all the not-so-nice things I do on a daily basis. One of the nice things I do is obey the “No turn on red” signs. I believe this makes up for the fact that I speed, tailgate drivers, and scream obscenities at hapless pedestrians who don’t get out of my way.

Another nice thing I do is let people go ahead of me in the checkout line if they have only a few items and I have a cart full of groceries. This makes up for all the times I “accidentally” slam my cart into someone who’s moving too slowly, knock over an old lady in my eagerness to get the last Kraft Easy-Mac, or slink away after spilling a container of milk. Clean-up on Aisle 6!

It sure feels good letting some poor schmuck with his pathetic jar of mayonnaise, Hungryman fro-din, and jock-itch cream save 10 minutes of his miserable life by not having to wait for me to unload my week’s worth of food and diet pills.

“Why don’t you go ahead of me?” I say magnanimously, with a graceful flourish of my arm to indicate not only the wide expanse of space that lies beyond my cart but also the hugeness of my heart.

Sunday was a shopping day and, as usual, I was filled with the milk of human kindness as well as a large McDonald’s coffee. My cart was extra-full of stuff for a family party: paper plates, paper cups, $1.99 tablecloth—no expense spared. Also the new Star magazine, which promised to show me the “Worst Beach Bodies.” This will make me feel better after I read US magazine, telling me how Christina Aguilera got her body back.

As I approached the checkout aisle, I saw a woman carrying a few items.

“Go ahead,” I said in my most beneficent manner. There was another man behind her, also with just a few things, so I grandly motioned for him to go ahead, too. As I wheeled my cart in, another man appeared behind me.

“Why don’t you go ahead of me?” I suggest, holding up my hand to fend off his grateful thanks.

OK, that’s three people in front of me. More than enough to ensure my Good Samaritan status. I feel pretty damn pleased with myself and can finally start unloading my stuff.

Oh, but wait. Yet ANOTHER guy appears behind me. Peripheral vision tells me he’s holding a few things, but I will NOT make eye contact. I furiously scoop up my groceries from my cart. I want to tell this guy about this great new invention they have called the SELF-CHECKOUT LINE, which is really not that hard to use plus there’s always someone there to help you and why would you choose to wait in line when you can just go do it yourself (breathes), but I don’t dare acknowledge him.

Doesn’t matter. This guy seals my fate with one word.

“Ma’am?”

UGH! You can’t ignore the “Ma’am.”

I back out my cart to let him in front of me, but I can only be a Good Samaritan for so long. Sooner or later, the good wears off, and the bad emerges. Smiling through gritted teeth, I can’t help but mutter that I’ve already let about sixteen people ahead of me, grumble, grumble, can’t stay here all day, my milk will spoil, and so on. I catch the eye of the guy in front of me, hoping for some acknowledgment of my sacrifice, but he just looks disappointed that the Good Samaritan has turned into a normal, everyday bitchy person.

So now there’s four people in front of me, and my Good Samaritan glow has been ruined. By me. But I have a chance to redeem myself, because . . . you guessed it. Here comes another loser, carrying a cheap-looking bottle of brandy and a 12-pack of Bud.

No freaking way. My Good Samaritan days are officially over. I turn my back and finish unloading my cart. He is giving me the stink-eye; I can feel it boring holes into my back.

Luckily the checkout lady comes to my rescue. As she finishes with the ingrate in front of me, she says loudly, “I’d better check you out, or you’ll never get out of here!”

“YES!” I agree, “I do have to get this stuff home!” I grabbed the closest item on the belt, which unfortunately was the “Worst Beach Bodies.”

What bothered me more? The fact that the guy behind me hated me and didn’t realize what a Good Samaritan I had been just seconds before he showed up . . . or the fact that I cared what a total stranger thought?

As I drove home, I screamed at a few pedestrians. I felt much better.

_________________________

There’s no waiting at humor blogs.