WalMart

I hate WalMart, but I've gone twice in three days. I'm finally getting around to buying a few things I wanted for my bedroom. I got a down-filled mattress topper, some deep pocket sheets, and I actually found a comforter I liked. At WalMart. I've been looking on the internet and in fancy department stores for months. MONTHS! And I found one I liked at the Unhappiest Place on Earth. Go figure. I also broke down and got a dvd player for my bedroom.

Sunday I made what is now the fluffiest bed in the world (though now I feel the need for more pillows) took a shower, piled on top of my bed with blankets, and had a Veronica Mars marathon. Such a simple little thing made me so happy. I'm in love with my bed now. I'm going to marry it and run away to Brazil, where we can finally be happy together.

But the real reason I blogged was this conversation I heard in the bathroom at WalMart on Saturday.

From the stall next to me I hear this grunting, and this woman whispering "oh my stomach". And lady, as someone that has no gallbladder, I feel your pain. I really do. However, the next part was so incredibly awesome I just ended up staying in my stall to hear it. (you would've too, don't judge me) She has one of those walkie-talkie cell phone things, and she CALLS SOMEONE ON IT.

Woman: *thick southern accent* Hay.
Man: Hay.
W: We're fixin ta leave WalMart, I thought I'd letchee know.
M: Okay.
W: I've got diarrhea somethin' awful.
M: What?
W: I'm shittin' my brains out here in the bathroom at WalMart.
M: *something I can't understand*
W: It musta been that corn I eat.

And today I went to WalMart with Misty and I ran into my sister, yaaaay! She's short. I mean, I knew that, but when I saw her today I was like "I wouldn't have seen her if she hadn't yelled at me." She's like a little elf. Don't tell her I said that, she'll kick my ass. And then I saw Dan! Yaaaaaay, Dan!

I could almost kiss WalMart, except I fear the WalMart Cooties. I'd get infected and end up one of those people that says "Oh I LOVE WalMart!" and then there would be the WalMart credit card, and two years later I'd have a handpainted wooden sign that said "Goin' WalMartin'!" hanging in my kitchen.

Yuck.