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Like most men on the planet,
I hate to shop. I think it's something innate in all men that given the
choice between going to the dentist or going shopping with our wives,
mothers or significant others, we will choose the dentist almost every
time. Unless, of course, the dentist's office is in a shopping mall, then
it's a toss-up.
But every so often, a wild
hair grows in my butt and I decide that it's high time I nip on down to
the store to pick up a pack of light bulbs or a couple pairs of fresh
undies, or in this case a large canvas duffel bag. Now don't worry, I'm
not doing anything illegal with the bag. I don't have a garbage can full
of severed limbs I need to get rid of or anything like that. Though if I
did, I'm sure the local supply store has just the bag I would
need.
Honestly, I don't know who is
purchasing duffel bags these days (aside from me, of course), but they
apparently own a lot of clothing, and have a great need to carry said
clothing with them wherever they go. The bags on display were gargantuan.
I simply don't own that much stuff. In fact, if I suddenly decided to pack
up everything I own into one of these duffel bags and move cross-country,
I would still have room to squeeze in a Portuguese immigrant or
two.
I decided on a nice mid-range
bag, as I will be taking it with me on my upcoming trip to Europe and I
might need to use it as a car cover, should we encounter inclement
weather. If you've had any experience with European automobiles, you will
understand why the large-size duffel bag would just be overkill. However,
it would come in handy should I decide to bring the car back with me. No
matter, I'm sure I'll still have room for the car even with my clothes,
toiletries, souvenirs and traveling companions tucked away
inside.
Having chosen the appropriate
bag for my particular needs, I set off browsing through the racks
for…well, more material for this column actually. I was perusing the
aisles of hunting gear, when I came across possibly the most useless item
of clothing I have ever seen. It was a camouflage shirt in the most
fabulous shade of purple. Even Liberace would have thrown up at the sight
of this shirt, and he's been dead for several years.
At first, I chuckled at the
gaudiness of it, then I began to wonder, 'just what are you hiding from,
and where exactly are you hiding when you decide to don
such a shirt?' Some queer forest, I presume; with dancing sprites and
cavorting fairies named Tarquin and Chad prancing around, doing each
other's hair and singing N'Sync tunes. But I digress.
I purchased my bag--or
rather, my mother purchased it for me as a Christmas gift. It's a little
game she likes to play with herself; it's called 'try to remember where
you put the gift you bought for someone two months ago for Christmas'.
It's her game, but it's fun for the entire family, because we get to see
the look of surprise on her face as we open the gift she bought for us.
Shopping for my mother is really very easy, because she'll go with you and
tell you what she wants, pick it out herself, watch you buy it, then
forget what it is by Christmas morning.
So I had my bag, but my
whirlwind day of shopping was not yet over. As you might imagine, no day
of shopping in America is ever complete with out a quick stop at the
wholesale club. In my opinion, there is no greater reason for the
terrorists to wish us dead than the wholesale club. It's because they're
jealous. After all, where in Afghanistan can you get twelve dozen tampons,
an MP3 player and a Waterford crystal vase all in the same
place?
I must admit though, for as
much as I enjoy a bargain, I have not taken enough poos in my life to
justify buying a six thousand roll pack of quadruple roll toilet paper.
I'm all for the "bigger is better" mentality in America, but really, do we
need quadruple roll toilet paper? It comes with a special extender for
your dispenser because it won't fit on your average, run-of-the-mill
dispenser. I think this might be getting a bit out of hand. I mean, if it
won't fit on my more than ample toilet paper dispenser, I just don't need
it that bad. Are we really so lazy that we can't stomach the thought of
replacing the roll every now and then? After all, we're sitting right
there. How much energy do we really exert in that effort? Personally, I'll
just keep wiping my ass with paper towels, Kleenex, dish rags, old socks
and the occasional clean shirt--whatever's handy. Hell, in most
third-world countries, they wipe with their left hand.
And that, my good friends is
why we rule the world. Because as gluttonous as it may seem to have such
convenience at our fingertips as a one-stop shop for anything you need
from gardening tools to sex toys, from a sexy negligee to a sack of
potatoes you'll need a Hemi-powered rig to bring home, it's nice to know
that we live in a place where all that is possible. We're free to say what
we want, live how we want, and buy any damn thing we please--even a purple
camouflage t-shirt. GOD BLESS AMERICA!
-Mike  |