Like every Sunday, we went on our weekly grocery shopping trip today. Late in our trip, Mark decided he was going to make bratwurst(s) (is this plural with an s? Or is it like the deer/deers thing?) Since I needed to restock my Advil Cold & Sinus supply (I believe this to be the best medicine there is), I told Mark that rather than buy 54 cans of junky beer, I was just going to run into CVS on our way home.
I left my party (Mark and the kids) in the car so I could pop in and out of the store. I briefly glanced at the shopping basket but decided I didn't need one since this was going to be a quick trip. As I walked back to the refrigerated beverages, I saw that the beer options were 12 pack, 24 pack or individual "Tall Boys". I filled my arms with three Tall Boys, wishing I had that basket, but being too proud and stubborn to go back and get one. Then I wandered through the aisles with my arms quickly freezing for ten minutes; I was getting more than one judgmental look, particularly from that lady in the baby aisle.
My medicine has to be purchased at the pharmacy counter so they can be sure I am not running a drug factory. On my way there, I awkwardly grabbed a couple of other things and stood in line.
The pharmacist looked expectantly at me as I unloaded my arms onto her small counter. I sheepishly told her that I am aware that I look like the trashiest person she will see all day, but these beers are for cooking and the Vaseline is for my kids' chapped faces. Yes, putting a pregnancy test on top of all of this hardly helped my case (don't panic, it's a quarterly spot check I do - and as always, it was negative). She kept her professional composure, but I'm sure she was doubting my cooking story.
I should have sent Mark in... no one judges a man carrying beer and a pregnancy test.
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