I've just been on a quick trip to Used Foods, better known as "The Canned Food Warehouse" where I wandered, Clampett-like, for the better part of eight and a half minutes. (Come to think of it, Jethro's last name was Bodine.) Among the gems I unearthed were Personal Lubricant, 99 cents, which I didn't buy, as I have a creed not to treat my genitalia to anything costing under one dollar. There was a helluva lot of Belgian chocolate and a ton or so of powdered drink mixes, sweetened with Splenda and fortified with all sorts of vitamins, minerals, and herbal extracts. Hey, add the St. John's wort you like, it's still a pack of SHITTY CHEMICALS THAT HARM YOUR BODY. It is no longer necessary for me to buy ALL of my favorite junky foods when I see them--merely patting many of them them is enough, although I will admit to letting out a squeal and buying a box of Quisp. The squeal, prolonged and protracted, did not shame Lulu as she's used to my overreactions, but as she pointed out, if I had actually spotted a box of Count Chocula, for which I have a passion long unslaked, it might have provoked a seizure. As it was I merely reinforced the interest of a passing black man who looked at me with great appreciation, which was extremely nice. I could read his thoughts: hey, if she gets THAT excited over a box of CEREAL, imagine what she'd do for a little monkey lovin'! (A shame he'll never find out.)
In the past, any trip to the US meant that I spent a lot of time buying and gorging on shite I would never normally touch--Little Debbie springs to mind, that wee pawky minx--but now I find it's just enough to look at them and laugh and maybe read part of their labels. FYI, the label of "ingredients" on a packet of Little Debbie snack cakes, while horrifying, is still printed in bigger type than the instructions on a Chinese home pregnancy test. Note to myself and others: if you have to squint to read the directions and hold the box out at arm's length--but still can't manage to read the directions--you are too old to be knocked up. P.S. After 18 + years of being told how unattractive I am to Chinese eyes, how lovely to find a fit, toned man of sensible years looking at me as if I am lamb chop and he a big, bad wolf.
In the past, any trip to the US meant that I spent a lot of time buying and gorging on shite I would never normally touch--Little Debbie springs to mind, that wee pawky minx--but now I find it's just enough to look at them and laugh and maybe read part of their labels. FYI, the label of "ingredients" on a packet of Little Debbie snack cakes, while horrifying, is still printed in bigger type than the instructions on a Chinese home pregnancy test. Note to myself and others: if you have to squint to read the directions and hold the box out at arm's length--but still can't manage to read the directions--you are too old to be knocked up. P.S. After 18 + years of being told how unattractive I am to Chinese eyes, how lovely to find a fit, toned man of sensible years looking at me as if I am lamb chop and he a big, bad wolf.
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