Do I have nerves of steels, balls of a bear, and patience the size of the grand canyon? Or am I just clinically insane? I'm not quite sure.
Today, on this day that is hell; this day on which four generations of each family in all of the United States of America cram themselves into parking lots and form long single file lines — lines that begin with mom, her credit cards duct taped to her forehead, are filled with snotty nosed, misbehaved children, and end with grandma and grandpa in matching, personalized wheelchairs — in an attempt to max out every credit card they possess; I am going shopping alone.
Wish me luck. And if you see me patiently slamming my head against my own driver's side window, or pinning three small children against the abrasive exterior of a mall water fountain, kindly toss me a cigarette. Thank You.
