She just told me "I think I'll hit Wal-Mart with the kids tomorrow."
My wife hates Wal-Mart with the intensity of a thousand suns. Not for any political or labor-relations reasons, but just because it's a freak show. Me, I like freak shows because they're a fount of material for the radio show, but the kids really don't need to see the 250-pound tattooed woman in gold tights telling her troglodytic husband/boyfriend/rutting partner "Now this here aisle is the one I was in the last time I got kicked out."
How far off the bell curve of acceptable behavior do you have to be to get kicked out of a Wal-Mart?
And yet my wife is talking about going there tomorrow - with the kids, on a Friday, before a summer's weekend.
She will need a glass of wine tomorrow night. And a foot massage. I shall provide.
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