If you're wondering how to make your trip to the Walmart about ninety-eleven-billion times better, then all you need to add is a buggy with zero working tires and two children.
Seriously, I tried about three different buggies and none of them worked. I finally settled on the buggy I had my hand on when the jerk-dude behind me told me to just pick one. Nice. Thanks.
Fox asked no less than fifty times if I would buy him a strobe light. No. Fifty-one times no.
I don't know why he wants one, but we're in the business of avoiding seizures around here. That was the closing sentence to the monologue in the Walmart after the last no. Observers were impressed. At least, that's what I'm telling myself.
I just found out that you must have a minimum of one facial piercing to work the check out line at the Walmart. That's what I can only assume because all the checkers today had something sharp in their face.
And, Mav carried the eggs. The giant thirty-two count egg container. He carried it. Only because I am completely inept when it comes to stacking groceries into the buggy. At least, that's what he told me whilst he carried the eggs. Something about them being crushed, and him starving to death for an entire week. Observers were impressed.
There's got to be a better way to buy groceries.