So I'm checking out of Walmart the other night and I'm hoping to make it quick. Brian is swinging Lydia in her car seat because she's fussing pretty badly and has been for awhile. I'm buying more Mylecon because we're out.
There is a haggard looking woman and her son in line in front of me, buying mounds of clothing.
"We've just come in to some money," she tells the checker.
"Oh really?" the checker replies. "The lotto? You rob a bank?"
"Your husband die?"
"That man'll probly never die," the haggard woman says. "The way my luck goes, he'll probably live to be a hundred."
Huh, I think to myself. Because Walmart isn't the first place I'd go to blow my windfall. And because I feel bad for that lady's husband.
Just then, a young woman with a Walmart badge comes walking up to the counter. Her tattoos begin at her wrists and go up into her sleeves and they end who knows where.
In a sing-songy voice she says, "Oh, mother of mine, look what I just did!"
Well, I'm certainly not her mother, so I look around.
The checker answers. "Oh, what did you just do, darling daughter of mine?"
"I broke a nail."
Huh, I think to myself. Because it's a Walmart mother-daughter duo. And because that manicure looks super weird next to all those tattoos.
Now it's my turn at the checkout.
"Hi, how are ya?" I say to the lady.
"Dentist," she says.
"Dentist," she says again.
"I don't unders-"
"Your dad is a dentist. Let me see your teeth."
"No, he's not a dentist."
"Well, anybody with teeth like that either has a daddy for a dentist or works for one."
Huh, I think to myself. Because I guess at Walmart, my regular old teeth look pretty fancy.
And because that's really sad.