Before I begin my tale of embarrassment and sorrow, I need to make one thing clear. I hate shopping at Walmart. I prefer stores with less hideous groups of hoodlums and whipersnappers. (I am so last century in my insulting, right?) On the few occasions that I do go to Walmart, I always seem to successfully humiliate myself, which is difficult when you are surrounded by 21st century cave dwellers looking to buy some new sweatpants. My most recent humiliating experience was a few weeks ago when I went to Walmart to get some groceries (Pepsi and cookies) with my sister Andrea (mother, burger lover) and my niece Acacia (Mess maker, face puncher). Of course Acacia refused to walk or sit in the cart, and insisted that I carried her. But I couldn't carry a cooperative child. Unacceptable. Acacia decided to struggle and smack me with every limb she has (which seemed to multiply by the hundreds for extra smackin'). She's also been doing this thing that when I carry her she screams for help and has a distressed look on her face. I feel that nothing would bring her more joy than me getting arrested for kidnapping, or overall suspiciousness. So as we were walking around getting our groceries Acacia was fighting me like she wanted to see my teeth on the ground, and I started to sweat like a big fatso in a swamp. This made me look like more of a creep, and thus more eligible for arrest. We finally finished and went to get our stuff at a self check out. This happened to be the one time I actually had any cash and so I decided to pay with that instead of my card. Bad idea. Very bad idea. My money apparently jammed the machine, causing it to show exclamation points and scream in pain. While the employees, who kept giving me dirty looks, went to go get someone to fix it, I stood there and started sweating even more. I call this the irritated sweat. I walked over to where Andrea was laughing at me and she politely informed me that my pants zipper was down. Great. Just what I needed. Unfortunately, everyone was looking at me as I was the cause of the screaming machine, so I am quite certain that every single one of them saw me zip up my pants. While sweating. In public. They finally fixed the machine, and gave me my change that the machine decided to have for a snack. Despite all of this, I walked out of Walmart with my head held high, sweat pouring, and my zipper down once again.
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