I have a warning.
Today’s post is not for a male audience.
If you are in fact a) male, b) a male related to me, or c) an ex-boyfriend, please just hit the back button on your browser, because this will in no way, shape or form hold any interest for you.
If you are indeed a male and choose to continue, don’t come crying to me and sue for psychological damage for you are about to enter the very warped and twisted mind of the Carpool Queen.
(And by the way and totally unrelated, you should have seen the traffic spike from Muslim countries on my post yesterday about getting your girly on. I kid you not – Egypt, Pakistan, Indonesia..there are some lonely boys over there…I hope that open bottle of Clorox did it for them.)
I will now get to the point.
I have a confession to make .
I cannot enter a store, buy a box of tampons, and walk out.
Hello, my name is Susan, and I am clearly not an adult.
Am I the only one that must put seventeen thousand other items into the basket that I do not need just to avoid walking through the store with a box in my hand? Because of course I’ll run into a male friend of mine while I’m at the store. Never fails. And can’t you see the flashing neon signs and arrows pointing to the lonely pink box, slowly making its way up the scanner belt towards the checkout clerk? And then to have to stand there and make chitchat over the weather? Nope. There’s just no way for me to feel unmortified.
So what did I add to my basket today? Judging by your comments yesterday, something of which you’ll all approve.
Because I can distract anyone with a good conversation about shoes.
So I guess it’s official.
I may be able to get my girly on, but when it comes to shopping for personal products, I clearly have not found my big girl britches.
Have a nice day.