Forgive me, Target, for I have sinned

Like every great summertime story, this one begins at Wal-Mart.

If you've followed this blog for more than a month, you know I have a not-so-secret infatuation with our local Target. Compared to every other major shopping chain in our area, Target is a diamond in the rough. Occasionally we'll stray to Wal-Mart, but only to remind ourselves why we don't shop there. Like the time Mike was scammed in the Wal-Mart parking lot. Yeah, this story's a lot like that one.

My first mistake (besides going to Wal-Mart to begin with) was parking next to a cargo van. This white van screamed "FREE CANDY" or "surveillance crew inside." Aren't you never supposed to park next to vans? Anyway, I figured it was safe since there was no side door and only one window on my side.

When I peeked in that window, though, I noticed there was quite the little greenhouse in the back where they were growing a field of marijuana. And on the passenger seat? A huge bag of ready-for-consumption reefer. You can almost see it in this picture that I snapped, hoping the owner of the van wouldn't be nearby looking to gut me and my kids. (I wrote down your license plate number with the words "pot van" next to it, so don't even think about trying anything funny.)

A short time later, we almost got run over by some a-hole old lady who scowled at me when she realized she'd nearly taken out Emma.

On the way into the store, the girls held hands and followed behind me like little ducklings. Well, a mother decided it was entirely appropriate to hold her arm out with pointer finger extended at my children, as if to silently announce the freakshow entering.

Then we almost got run over by a crab-assed woman in one of those scooter/cart thingies. Oh, she saw us. She just didn't care. There was about twenty feet of room on either side of us, yet she drove through my kids like a child might run through a flock of pigeons.

My second mistake was thinking I would cross paths with a competent employee while searching for a product which, luck would have it, hadn't been restocked. After twenty minutes of dinking around with three sales people - whom I'm not entirely convinced weren't homeless people who were pretending to work there - I said screw it and moved on.

Why go to Wal-Mart if I have such bad luck there? you might ask. Well, I went for the cheap summertime entertainment. Like this pool. (And because I'm a rulebreaker, I allowed my kids to play in said pool while it was being filled. I didn't look, but I'm sure it says something bad about that in the manual. As well as being a rulebreaker, I often don't read manuals. Let's hope that pump works! Hey, I have a general working knowledge of physics and filters. Don't judge.)

That's Emma's oh it's so cold but I'm having fun pose. The water was crazy cold. I quit messing around in it after it went past my ankles for that very reason. Here's Alison spraying her sisters with the hose after the millionth time of being told to leave it alone. The neighbors appreciated the screaming, I'm sure.

The bonus to having a pool is that the kids will be entertained and they'll go to sleep before eleven. That is a miracle. The miracle of water and sun, baby. If you have kids and don't have access to water, get access.

And because this story needed a happy ending, Mike passed out from exhaustion on the couch after watching a movie and participating in a very close game of cribbage, something I've been told is an old person's sport. Which would explain why he crashed immediately afterward. Once asleep, the cat took shelter on his rear. She must really love him because I'm married to him and would never put my life in jeopardy like that.

Even if it did involve a piece of ass.