So, Andrew celebrated his birthday yesterday and one of the gifts I purchased for him was a nose hair trimmer. It was obviously something he wanted, because hello? Who buys that for someone else without them wanting it? Believe me, he used that thing within 5 minutes of opening it so I’ll call it a success. Andrew told me he wanted one, and when my baby wants something, he gets it. OK, so that’s not true, but for one day, I wanted it to be. Just so I don’t sound like a total loser who buys people weird gifts, I also bought him two Nike DriFit polo shirts, tickets to a tennis match and tickets to see the Counting Crows; plus, we spent the day doing his favorite things: eating bagels, reading magazines at Borders forever, eating sandwiches and playing Bags at Beach Hut deli, swimming and watching a House marathon AND I made him a delicious dinner with homemade lemon sorbet. Plus, did you read yesterday’s blog? He says it was his favorite birthday ever. I’m a good girlfriend, I swear. So don’t judge the nose hair trimmer, OK?
Anyways, I journeyed to Wal Mart last week to find the elusive nose hair trimmer and of course, was swarmed by idiots. Just getting a parking spot was a nightmare due to the families wandering the parking lot. I seriously thought I was going to run over a child on two separate occasions because they were permitted to frolic through the parking lot, free of parent supervision save for a quick, “No, no!” as they darted in front of my car. Walking in, the game was reversed and I was nearly killed in the crosswalk as a woman yelled out, “Move your ass, bitch!” as I walked inside.
When I finally entered the store, list in hand, I set off for cosmetics. The store was packed with a million people and maneuvering my cart was tough enough. I could not for the life of me figure out where they kept the nose hair trimmers. Finally, I stumbled upon an employee, stocking hair bands.
No answer, just a glance in my general direction.
“EXCUSE ME! I NEED SOME HELP!”
Rose turned towards me and grunted.
“Um, hi, I’m looking for a nosehair trimmer, ” I said.
“Huh?” she asked.
I gestured towards my nose. “A nose hair trimmer?!”
She told me to wait a minute, and proceeded to continue unloading rubber bands and hairbrushes. I waited about a minute, cleared my throat, and informed her I was on my lunch and in a hurry. With a heavy sigh, she abandoned her rubber bands and lead me over to a locked case, full of grooming tools.
Um, WHAT? Who locks up their Finishing Touches or Conair Wet/Dry razors? I’ve never in my life seen that. What am I going to do, really? Assault someone by shaving off their mustache? Anyways, once she procured my very dangerous shaver, she proceeded to inform me that I was NOT PERMITTED TO WANDER THE STORE WITH IT, and would have to either pay now or have it held at the front. I assured her that really, I had no interest in harming anyone, and simply wanted to finish shopping but she insisted it would be waiting at aisle 15 when I was ready.
As I wandered the store, I noticed a disturbing trend: old people dressed alike. At first, I thought it might have been just this adorable old couple looking at medications, clad in green polos, khaki shorts and stark white tennis shoes. But as I moved to the next aisle, I saw an old man and woman in white button down’s and black pants. Another aisle had a middle-aged couple clad all in denim. HOT! But this was concerning for me. Is this some new over-65 trend? Because I better start now if Andrew and I are supposed to dress the same—I need to get my hands on a whole lot of mesh shorts and t-shirts because I doubt I’ll get him in a skirt.
Anyways, I finally made my way up to the check stand where the DANGEROUS HAIR TRIMMER awaited me. But not without a fight. I asked the cashier if she had it, and she informed me that no, there’d been no trimmer. I questioned her again, and she put her hand on her hip and said, “Listen, lady, there’s been no nose hair trimmers up here. OK? If you want one, go to the pharmacy.” As I reluctantly gathered my crap and started to walk over, I saw the corner of the package sitting on the counter.
I pointed and said, “Um, that’s my trimmer.”
And she replied, “Lady, that’s a PERSONAL GROOMER.”
I suppose I deserve this torture for going there at all, but COME ON. This once again confirms that I will always and forever shop at Target, for all my needs, be they nose hair trimmer or personal groomer.