If the flip-flop fits . . . .

Let me preface this little tale with two things: 

1.  I HATE the effin' Wal-Mart.  I shop there out of absolute necessity.  I hate getting there, parking, and I hate navigating my way through that place. 
2.  Those "People of Wal-Mart" emails have been a guilty pleasure of mine for some time.  I'm always astounded at things like mullets and displays of three-hundred pound women flashing their thongs.

This happened about a month ago . . . .

I am ashamed to report that I am now one of the "People of Wal-Mart".

See, what had happened was, I blew out my flip-flop while crossing the parking lot, and my retarded ass tried to continue walking in the busted flop--with traffic STOPPED for me to cross in both directions. I looked like someone with a severe handicap.

After concluding that the now-broken flip-flop just wasn't gonna work, I took it off and proceeded to shop with one foot bare.  I sure as hell wasn't going all the way back home to get another pair of shoes.  Nuh-uh.  I was there, I had my game face on.  Let's DO this. 

You should have seen people whispering and staring (I'm pretty effin' sure I saw someone out of the corner of my eye snap a picture of my dilemma with a cell phone.  I am also pretty effin' sure he had a mullet and missing teeth. Great.) all while I am pretending this is an INTENDED wardrobe malfunction.  As if I am bestowing a high-fashion trend to the people of the Winston-Salem Wal-Mart.
Oh, and did I mention I am wearing my Cleveland Browns t-shirt?  'Cause that never draws attention . . . . riiiight.

As the cashier is ringing up my new $3 flops, I say "don't worry about bagging those . . . I need them now".  Do you know what it feels like to get a "bless your heart" look from a Wal-Mart cashier?

I need to start this day over . . . . go to bed and get up again. I need a shower first, though. Blech.

That's okay, you can laugh at my expense, just don't hate when my picture is included in the next viral e-mail. Bitches.