neverbeencool

As the Man of the house, one of my duties is to track, hunt, and kill various food stuffs to provide sustenance for the family. On Sunday, I hoisted up my loin cloth, grabbed my club, and headed down to the local Safeway to bring down some donuts.

Went to the first one and found someone already standing in front of the display, gathering dozens for her own clan. Being passive-aggressive to the core, I had no choice but to stand idly by, fuming, while she stocked her cart with all the best cuts of donut. She proved completely immune to the various biting comments I made under my breath as she filled box after box with sweet, donuty goodness. By the time she finished, there was nothing left but the bony carcass of day-old apple fritters and those plain ass cake things.

Not satisfied with the idea of bringing home the few scraps left behind, I decided to head over to another store to stalk my prey. I mounted my gas-guzzling SUV and headed back across the river.

I saw her as soon as I pulled into the parking lot. She was wearing old, dirty sweats and, every few steps, would turn around to look behind her. Between her unsteady gait, filthy clothing, wonderful complexion, and paranoid twitchiness, I knew right away I was dealing with the invasive Southwest Washington Tweaker.

And, somehow, I also knew we were searching for the same prey.

I parked quickly, jumped out of Ricky, and headed for the automatic doors. I was about 25 feet behind her when she walked into the Safeway. I tried to close the gap, but her meth-enhanced trot gave her a slight edge.

As I feared, she immediately started heading toward the bakery. I tried sneaking around, but a herd of American Fat Asses blocked my stealthy path through the deli.

By the time I doubled back and found the trail, it was too late. There she was, plastic tissue thingie in hand, eyeing the maple bars.

At first, I thought I got lucky. Unlike the competition at the previous feeding place, the Tweaker was only filling a single small bag. There’d be plenty of fresh donut kill left over for me to bring back to the family.

Then I nearly wet myself.

Like I mentioned, she grabbed the little plastic tissue thingie like a good donut hunter, so I assumed she at least had some sort of relationship with Good Manners and Hygienic Donut Selection Practices. Stupid assumption.

When she reached in to grab her maple bar, she didn’t snatch the one in the front. Or the one behind it. Or the one behind that. No, instead, she stretched her arm all the way to the back of the tray to steal the one from the back row. And as she reached, I watch helplessly as her nasty, filthy, stained-with-God-only-knows-what sleeve rubbed up against every poor little maple bar settled between her and her chosen one.

Then she did the same thing with the apple fritters, tainting all but the one of her dreams.

I think the Gods that I was there to watch it. Granted, it/she was nasty, but at least I knew which ones to avoid. Shudder to think that, had I arrived five minutes later, I might have brought my family Tweaker-tainted bismarcks.

Of course, even that wouldn’t have ruined my weekend. I mean, it started with Cally getting sucked out the airlock and ended with Silja and I watching Juno in bed. Pretty kick ass.