Judged at the Drug Store

Published November 7, 2014 by WELCOME TO HEIDI

Last night on my way home from work, I stopped at the drugstore to purchase a spa pillow for my tub. Now, I am not a bath person. I am a shower person. I do however, come from a long line of bath people – known as The British. These people have never met a tub they couldn’t sit in for hours. I, on the other hand, have a hard time in a bath. I get bored. It gets cold. I feel like I should be doing something other than just sitting there. Blah blah shouldn’t I be watching tv or something? But I had been feeling sick over the past few days and someone suggested a soak in Epson Salt. And so the night before – I tried it. This time however, I tried something I had never tried before with my bath – I got high before I got in. OMG MAGIC. So this is the secret to a soak in a tub – smoking pot. Why hasn’t anyone written about this? Why has no one ever told me that the correct way to sit in a hot tub is to do it – high. Fuck the whole candle light glass of wine shit – a bong is all I needed. And so there I was, high as a kite, happy as a clam. Whatever happiness that clam feels. I was feeling it. I followed that high bath with my first high shower and Jesus Christ who knew that too was equally as amazing!!?? Suddenly my bathroom was the most magical place on earth and it had been there all along!! The only bad thing that happened was I realized I was out of make up remover wipes after it was too late. There is nothing more devastating than pulling out that last wipe and realizing you don’t have any back ups. Nothing. Except maybe everything else in the world but I digress. My bathroom was now The Taj Mahal. I would turn it into the Zen Shrine it deserves to be. Any excuse to shop for shit is good with me. And so the next day at work was spent dreaming about that nights bath. How soon can I get out of here and get in there. I wrote lists of all the new things I needed for my bath. A small table for next to the tub, and a spa pillow for starters. And so, there I was, on my way home from work, stopping at the drugstore. My head was swirling with glee. How lucky am I that I don’t have to go home and take care of anyone else but me tonight? Damn I’m happy. And then it happened. On my way out of the store – spa pillow tucked inside my purse – a homeless woman who very much resembled the actress from Throw Momma From The Train – asked me for money. “Of course” I said and took out a few dollars from my wallet. As I handed it to her she said “Thank you.” And then she paused –turned her lips into a frown and said “I know how hard it is. Being a single girl.” I’M SORRY – WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU JUST SAY? “I know you’re single.” She said. “How do you know I’m single?” I barked in the parking lot. She said – “Well you’re alone.” I said “Well I don’t always shop with someone.” And then I realized – I’m arguing with a homeless woman in a Rite Aid parking lot about my single status – a status she was completely fucking correct about. I felt so judged. And worse – she said it as if we were on the same page. We were kindred spirits, in our lack of love. I got in my car, sped away, and seethed the whole way home. Then I ran my bath, suctioned my new pillow to the wall, smoked a bowl, and got in. It was perfect. No one was there to annoy me and I thought to myself – I may be single but I am definitely not alone. Fuck you Owens mom.

2 comments on “Judged at the Drug Store

  • One of my brothers, a scruffy but well educated and employed professional, was once mistaken for a homeless man eating from the trash as he stood hunched over a garbage can on a sidewalk eating a burrito. A pitiful sight he must have been as one of a group of passers by dropped a dollar at his feet, and another exclaimed “fuckin’ bum!” As he told me this story, it made perfect sense. He was hunched over the trash can not because he’d removed a half-eaten meal from it, but because it was messy, and he didn’t want to get it on his shirt, as it proved difficult to eat while walking or standing fully upright.

    Confirming their assessment, as he heard the comment “fuckin’ bum” and realized it was directed at him, he roared something unintelligible, his mouth full of burrito, and hurled the food, foil wrapping and all, in their direction. It was exactly what one might expect from someone who’d found the likely stale, air-temperature, half-eaten food in the trash, and not something to be expected of someone who’d just purchased the food himself and was enjoying eating it piping hot and seasoned to taste.

    Sometimes the most spot-on assessments come from the most faulty reasoning, and sometimes the most inaccurate assessments come from complete misimpressions.

    Life is full of absurdities. I love your blog.

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