Today is Sugar Daddy’s birthday.  Last night I took Princess Zurg and Mister Bubby shopping for his present, which turned out to be Star Wars: Knights of the

Republic.  Because eight months of being a Roller Coaster Tycoon widow just wasn’t bad enough, I guess.  It would have been a relatively quick trip if the Best Buy hadn’t been right next to a WinCo Foods.  For some reason Mister Bubby loves grocery stores.  Maybe because they sell Cheetos there.  I don’t know.  Anyway, he insisted that we do the rest of Daddy’s birthday shopping at WinCo, so in we went.

For those of you not from this region of the
U.S., WinCo is one of those horrible warehouse supermarkets with really low prices and a really unpleasant ambience.  Back in graduate school, a sister student-wife confessed to me that she loved shopping at WinCo because everyone else there was on government assistance, too.  This was in
Eugene, of course, where most of the general population is on government assistance because they blew their life savings on organic produce.  They only use their panhandling income to buy beer.  (Lest you think this if some kind of cruel, Reagan-era slander, you should know that I mean that these people’s cardboard signs actually say, “Give me money so I can buy beer.”  We actually find that candor refreshing.  At least it isn’t marijuana.  Because I think in
Eugene you can use food stamps for that, if it’s organic.)

Where was I?  WinCo.  Yes.  For some reason I’m the only one in the family who finds it creepy.  I can’t put my finger on it, but it’s the same thing I can’t stand about Costco.  I just like my stores cozier.  But S.D. loves WinCo because he loves saving money, so he volunteers to do the grocery shopping, which I find almost as attractive as volunteering to clean under the vinyl seat of Elvis’ high chair.  So let’s say it’s been a loooooong time since I’ve had to step foot inside a WinCo, and I was not too thrilled to be there.  We spent the next 20 minutes buying Daddy atomic fireballs and bulk gummi bears (::shudder::), and the next 40 minutes in the checkout because the rush hour at WinCo is any hour between 8 a.m. and midnight.  I was lucky to get out of there with all my hair.

For the record, I am rubbing my hands together with glee because this is S.D.’s last year of being in his 20’s.  Next year he officially becomes old, like me.  I’m not actually that many years older than him, but you wouldn’t know it to hear him talk.  He still asks me where I was when JFK was shot.  Ha…ha…ha.