Against my better judgment, the Curmudgeonly Professor accompanied his wife to WalMart and Kohl's Department Store today. At the moment, it seemed like a potential change of scenery from sitting at this computer and posting flowers by the dozen. I presume it is something like having a baby: you forget how miserable it was to have the last one by the time you are about to have another. But I am not of the female gender so I cannot speak with authority on this subject. I lost my wife in both stores. She claims I got lost. Whatever. Lost is lost. My wife was looking for swimsuits at Kohl's for water aerobics. I wandered back to the back looking for some photo frames, passing through acres and acres of ladies' undergarments, still more than enough to outfit every female in the south Salt Lake Valley and even some from Lehi and Provo with some left over. One thing about Kohl's, almost everything is always, more or less "on sale." My wife had a $10 coupon which she forgot and left home, but the clerk gave her the ten bucks off anyways. I found some photo frames, but the photo frame aisles were clogged with mommies with monster strollers and yowling infants. But I finally found three frames at 55% off, their normal price most days of the year, and headed for the front. Unlike most trips to Kohl's, my wife beat me to the car. She was ecstatic. She found two swimsuits "normally" priced at 70 bucks with various and sundry markdowns for a total of 20 bucks, plus a new purse for a song. She is never a happy shopper unless something started out at some exorbitant price and she ends up getting it for about 10% or less of the original price.
So being reunited with my loved one, we forged on to WalMart. Unfortunately, I forgot my camera. I had intended to write a primer on how to shop at WalMart, starting with photos of the "Entrance" and "Exit" signs and explaining the function of each. The greeter lady was blocking the doorway gabbing with someone so we had to barge around to even get into the store. After tromping approximately 20 miles to round up a bottle of hot salsa to cure my stuffy nose and a few other assorted goodies, I lost my wife. She never stays in one place. A couple of store clerks asked how things were going and I explained that my wife was lost and I feared I would never find her again and would have to stay jailed in WalMart for eons of time. They each suggested we page her over the loudspeaker which I thought a good idea, especially if we could announce that she should not wander off any more. Finally, we met up at the checkout lines where she transferred her bargains into my checkout lane, including two hand towels for $1.50 each, a purchase she was especially thrilled about.
So, totally exhausted, and wondering why I thought it would ever be a good idea to accompany my wife to Kohl's Department Store and WalMart, we wandered home to recuperate. We did have a gourmet lunch at Wendy's, consisting of two 99 cent double stack hamburgers, which was 58 cents cheaper than two $1.29 burgers at Carls' Junior. What does Carls' Junior mean? Isn't the punctuation all screwed up? We declined the triple combo maxo jumbo conglomeration offer from the loudspeaker, proceeding to the payup window, and then to the handout window, where in 30 seconds we were munching our 99 cent double stack, gooey with cheese, cholesterol, fat grams, pickles, onions, mustard, and ketchup, and totally delicious. At least Wendy's understands the concept of fast food.
Now we must be off to the neighborhood barbecue, at which I am designated to be, once again, the official photographer, with instructions once more not to come up with a hundred pictures of peoples' big rear ends. We skipped the church outdoor social the other night, since we were supposed to bring our own lunch, so to speak, and I am tired of fixing my own lunches, and, thank you, want to eat something someone else fixed. This is what happens when you have a social planned by men. Men do not know how to plan socials, or anything else, for that matter. If you want something planned and have a good social, for pete's sake, have a female gender type take care of it. But a woman planned the neighborhood barbecue and, happy day, we are having barbecued ribs, which makes a heck of a lot more sense than bringing my own baloney sandwhich. Sheesh. Men get bored trying to figure out stuff. We probably should have more women running the country. Then men can occupy their favorite recliner chairs, watch Matlock and Leave it to Beaver, and not have to worry about anything any longer.
The Curmudgeonly Professor will continue his analysis of shopping matters at a later time. Right now he must go stick his memory card in his camera and go take photos of people's front sides for the neighborhood scrapbook. Have a nice day.