All who know me will attest that I have long taken pride at my abilities in the grocery store.
I used to be able to shop with the best of 'em, even had a coupon pouch...
And yes, it was organized. (One of the few well organized things ever for me.)
But, I fell out of practice as others had taken on the chore for me, and I just haven't gotten back in the saddle as it were. 

I've also been suffering from a cold.  Again, any who know me will attest that I can be a whiney li'l toad when I'm in this condition.
I was raised by doting women who would sit by the bed if I so much as sneezed that day. Spoiled in this area?
Yes.
Now I payed for this fawning attention later, when from my sick bed I raised an eyelid to spy my then wife packing a bag. "Where're you going?" I croaked. 
"A hotel, call me when you're better. I must keep writing now."


 "Um, what about that: 'in sickness and in health' bit you vowed to honor?"
She pondered this for a good ten seconds and then reached for her bag and the door.
"You're right. I promise to tell my therapist I'm not doing very well with that one."
And with that she was gone. Later in counseling, (her therapist of course,) I was told I should have been proud that she could be so honest about her needs that day.

   So back to the future. As I said I get sick. (Probably exhaustion, parties, meetings, and too little sleep.)   
Anyway, sick, out of practice and generally blah, I prepared to drag my sorry butt to the store. 

I've put off going to the store for many weeks.
I've shopped for the animals  twice since shopping for my little ol' self.

    I drag myself outa bed after nearly three days, shower and start to put on some cologne.  

 Don't want to use the "good stuff" for a store trip right?
So I grab one of the samples that was in a goody-bag from one of the aforementioned swarey's.
Hmmm, seems to have lost it's potency.
     I grab another and wipe it on really hard… still nothing. No olfactory joy is to be had.
Ah! Here's one of those little tubes of cologne.
     I splash on nearly the whole thing and mutter how cheap certain vendors are, watering down their wares these days.

 

I reach the store.
As I plod along aisle  after aisle, I get the feeling that some people are looking over their shoulders at me.

Sure enough I catch a sideways glance from a granny.  Nope, my fly's not down,...
I move on well aware that I'm commanding much too much attention.

 

I need Tuck's Medicated Pads, and don't have a clue as to where they are.
(I used to be able to find everything in this place, but alas, no more.)
    Here comes a male manager with a female employee.
    I notice he steps back one pace when I approach him, but I press on and inquire quietly for his ears only,                     "Tucks Medicated Pads?"
He stares at me with no expression for a bit, then in a voice a carnival barker would approve of, says:
        "What are those for? Is it like Ben Gay?"
    Now the poor female employee gathers all her strength not to collapse laughing on the floor.

    I, again quietly, respond, "No, quite the opposite in fact. Soothing, these are for soothing irritated areas?"

 I hope he catches my drift.
    Not a chance of course, in a classic movie moment he starts to shout to the pharmacist,
"Hey! Diana, where are…."
    But the female employee comes to my rescue, interrupting him and telling him she'll lead the way.

    OK!  Now we're a caravan, looking for something for which to wipe my achy-breaky bottom.

She spies the goods and points to them for me. Of course manager-man must check this out.
    "Oh" he says as if the picture is really clear now, and moves away at breakneck speed.

 

    At the cash register, again the young man ringing things up looks at me as if I'm from outer space.
What the hell!?
    Is my nose dripping? Toilet paper comin' outa my trousers?

 What-is-it?!

        The sweet man bagging my groceries, a special needs person, smiles benignly at me, so I ask him,
"Is there something wrong with me today?"
Never looking up from his work, but with a soft smile he announces:   
"You ripe."
 Ripe?  I put on tons of….
Oh wait, now I get it…
    I'm at the store smelling like a French whore and asking for things to sooth my hiney. 

 

                            I think I'm gonna save up for a shopping service that delivers.

 

RJ