Advedntures at WalMart

Cylla said, “Do the dogs need medicine cheese?”

“Yes, they do,” I said. Charlie has Addison’s disease and takes two steroid capsules daily, best done with one-quarter piece of American cheese.

“This is all real cheese,” Cylla said.

“Fake cheese is down here,” I said, and I drove my buggy to that section and got two packages of American cheese, $1.25 per for an off brand, as opposed to $3.98 for Kraft. I walked to Cylla’s buggy and put the packages in and then went back to my buggy and drove to a mop and broom aisle to maybe get something to wash the truck, which we hope to sell before going to Florida. I looked around but could not find anything acceptable.

I happened to look down at my buggy then, and I said, “Why are those two packages of pantyhose in my buggy? I did not get two packages of pantyhose. I haven’t even been in the pantyhose section. If Cylla got two packages of pantyhose, she would have put them in her buggy.”

And then: “This is not my buggy. I have someone else’s buggy. Perhaps while I carried the two packages of cheese to Cylla’s buggy, someone parked a buggy behind mine, and when I returned to get my buggy I took the first one, not seeing another, assuming no other buggy was there. But here it is, and it has two packages of pantyhose.”

I drove back to the fake cheese section. There was another buggy, empty except for a piece of paper that was in it when I got the buggy at the front of the store. I parked the pantyhose buggy behind the paper-in-it buggy and then got mine. I did not look around for anyone to apologize to. I mean, how weird would it be … “I apologize for taking your pantyhose.”