It’s Confession Time…

If we wore tutus we would feel better. We would move more freely and kindness would ensue. And there’d be dancing. And I could wear mine to Walmart and look relatively normal.

Like you, I see photos of Walmart shoppers and shake my head wondering about self awareness, fashion sense and, truly, mental health. Not wearing pants to the grocery store certainly must be a sign of more than unawareness of what’s on the runway, non? I wonder from where these folks hail. Surely they must venture from the woods once a year to buy guns and have the tires rotated.

Shortly after The Norwegian died, I made a first foray into The Mart. No lie. I was the bitch “low-shopping” at Target. A co-worker tells me of some bargain I must see to believe. Besides, The Dale’s Walmart offering certainly can’t be of the no-pants variety, I surmise. I would be wrong.

I admit to conversion. Go ahead–sit atop your ivory tower and tell me your heart does not beat faster at 99 cent deodorant–not the off brand we’ve never heard of but the good stuff. The place is a cornucopia of groceries, reading material, one dollar picture frames, and two dollars off Haagen Dasz coffee ice cream, leaving money for shoes. Thank Baby Jesus.

In the beginning, I skulk about, sunglasses hiding my face. Then the thought hits me. In order to tell someone you saw me comparing prices at The Mart, you’d have to be there. It’s your basic Catch- 22. The Help, anyone?

It reminds me, too, the level of snot I must have been in my former life of European travel slathered in pearls and French pinot noir–all of which I’d take back sans hesitation. Self evolution only goes so far, right?

There are drawbacks to devolving one’s shopping habits. Generally these can be offset by the squees of under a dollar toothpaste and cat food by the case.

And the “people of Walmart?” They are, indeed, about. More than the average motor about in drivable carts. They don’t smile when you jump out of the way too slowly. People in questionable dress are not hard to find. Nor are half-dressed children, toothless faces, peek-a-boo thongs, butt cracks, and those in need of 99 cent anti-perspirant.

Me in a rainbow tutu? Pfft.

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