For those that are not aware, I have a borderline unhealthy adoration for the original Star Wars movies. I mean, my god, we're naming our son Lucas.
AnyForceBeWithYou, we decided to make some cookies tonight, using the new cookie cutters. Something fun for both the girls and myself and mainly myself. I selected pre-made Nestle Tollhouse cookie dough, which I will not use anymore because the cookies went from relatively soft to cement hard in the time it took me to get home from my Superfresh trip, the ultimate subject of this blog. I'll get there, I just have to do it in a round-about way.
We worked the dough, made the shapes (Darth Vader, Yoda, Stormtrooper, and Boba Fett - pronounced several times as 'Bobba Fett' by Kelsey), and cooked the cookies. 11 minutes later, it was time to feast. As I poured the girls each a glass of ice cold milk, I noticed there was roughly enough milk to provide myself with a moist tongue.
This. Shall. Not. Stand.
I don't know about you, but I needs my milks with my cookies. It has to happen. Cookies without milk is like having cookies without milk. It's an affront to nature, and I'm almost certain can be found somewhere in the Bible. Right between Cain & Abel and the first appearance of the Easter Bunny. If there were 11 Commandments, everyone would make sure to have some milk around.
Now, I did not want to go to the store for milk. It was pretty much at the bottom of my Things I Want To Do Right Now list. Unfortunately, my need for that cold, creamy, white concoction would not be denied. I grabbed my keys, threw on some shoes, and headed out to the Elkridge Superfresh, right up the street from my house.
Boy, am I glad I did. And not just because I got some milk. Which was also good.
I pulled up to the store, and since it was a Thursday night at 9:30pm or so, I was able to get a good parking spot. That, however, doesn't matter.
I walked into the store. The first person I saw was a teenage girl, roughly 14 years of age. She was wearing her bathing suit and some flip-flops, with a little dress-type-thing covering from mid-chest to mid-thigh. It was baby blue and said Baby Phat on the back. In cursive.
The next person to delight my eyes was her little brother, pushing a cart in front of her. He was wearing regular little boy clothing, nothing interesting. The interesting part was his hair, which was an unbelievably well crafted mullet. The kind one does not expect to see on a roughly 11 year old boy. Short and spiky in the front, continuing halfway to the back where it began to flow into a beautiful Party In The Back. This party didn't end at the shoulders, though. Oh, no... no no no. It continued down to about mid-chest. This, given the boy's youth, means it had been cultivated to this point for pretty much his whole life. Awesome.
The trend continues.
The next person I see is the older brother. His hair is tied back in a pony tail, and thus the mullet was not as noticeable at first, and yet no less there. The Party portion had been fastened with a hair tie and pulled back, allowing the Business In The Front to first catch your eye. This young man had decided to go with the shaggy Business end, which caused a more gradual transformation into the mullet he obviously adored and yet rarely washed.
Next was the mother, who appeared to enjoy herself a dark tan, causing the leathery appeal her skin took. I cannot be sure, but if I was to guess the content of her purse, the words Parliaments or Pall Malls would be the first things out of my mouth.
Walking with her was a little girl, maybe Kelsey's age - right around 6 or 7. She looked fine.
And then, striding along with purpose in his sweat shorts and grey-ish tye-dye looking-ish t-shirt, was the Patriarch. The man with the plan. Sir Mulleton of Mullshire. His hair almost exactly mirrored the youngest boy's, with the shaved and spiky Business leading the charge, the Party taking up the rear and doing it well. As a direct result of approaching the twilight of life, his Party had taken on a darker grey appearance. This may come across as dignified in some men, as my grey hair definitely does for myself. In this fashion, however, it exuded a kind of statuesque sadness. Like a man holding on to times past, when you looked life in the eye and gave it the finger. Where you laughed at fate while pissing into the wind. A time when you shook your fist in anger at the sky after vomiting half a keg of Miller Lite.
A friendlier time.
A time where it was okay to play with Star Wars toys in the bathtub.
So, that was the Mullet Family. If my description seems harsh and mocking, let me add that not a one of them seemed unhappy or angry. They were just a family doing some late Thursday night shopping. The only one that seemed moody was the teenage girl, and she is a teenage girl.
I moved on, passing a freezer aisle. In passing, I noticed a neighbor of mine in the aisle. She was pulling items out of the freezer and placing them on the ground. I suppose things were being moved to get to other things, but I can't be sure because my vantage point was not as much as a Stop And Stare, but rather a Hope You Don't See Me move. What I was able to notice was her child sitting on the floor amongst the random grocery objects, playing with them. Her little tiny child, on the floor of the supermarket, late in the evening, playing with freezer products.
And so I continued on to the milk aisle. At this point, I have been in the store for roughly 90 seconds. A much, much shorter time than you have spent reading this entry. I apologize for the length, but I prefer embellishment to stark facts and figures.
I grabbed the milk, turned around, and headed back out of the aisle. What greeted me as I rounded the corner - the same corner I had just gone around the get to the milk - had not been there 20 seconds before.
There were two heavyset girls standing in front of the ice cream section, debating on what ice cream to buy. They were listing their likes and dislikes, and I was judging books by the covers.
One girl had very short hair, almost lesbian-butch. Now, I am not homophobic nor do I care who dates who and in what way, I am simply using the term as an example. Whether you like it or not, every one of you knows exactly the hairstyle I am speaking of, so shut it. She had on normal clothing, but had the voice tenor of a 'Valley Girl' from The Hills. It was surprising to hear.
Her friend was wearing... well, I am not sure how to describe it without using the word 'tutu'.
So, her friend was wearing a tutu. I suppose it would technically be thought of as a skirt, but she could have also broke into a ballet routine in the store and been dressed correctly for it. Her legs were adorned in tights, a cascading pattern of white and black stripes. Think Cat In The Hat, but without the primary coloring. Her shirt was very tight, and her hair was at least four different colors. Maybe five, if you include black. Different color shoelaces.
Did I mention I left my phone at home? Nichole told me to take it, but it was just a short hop to the store, so I just left it home. My phone has a camera on it, and I have the camera noise muted so no one would have known if I had been taken pictures.
I then paid for my milk in the self-checkout, nodded and smiled at the very bored looking girl who is in charge of the self-checkout should someone use it incorrectly which always happens and usually to me where the light goes off because the jar of peanut butter tipped over on the way down the moving platform and now I gotta wait for the attendant person because they are currently helping the other person with their peanut butter mishap and the woman with two huge carts of stuff is walking out the door and she is the person I was going to get behind in the normal checkout aisle before I noticed the self-checkout line was clear and moved over to use that and isn't modern technology super?
Walking to my car, I noticed someone had parked beside me, as sometimes happens in parking lots. Nothing unusual about that. It was a white pick-up truck, and had a neat looking rail type system going around the bed of the truck. This went up the side and the back, and had two lights fastened to it that shone over the cab. This same type of railing was at the bottom beneath the door, as well as attached to the front bumper.
I came closer. The whole thing was made out of PVC piping. It was like someone in shop class made a very complicated bong out of PVC pipes and connected it to their truck.
At this point, I hopped into my car and headed home, eager to relate this tremendous experience to Nichole, who agreed to do all of our shopping at Superfresh around 9:00pm on Thursday nights.
Having passed sound judgement on a wide selection of people whom I know nothing about, I can follow it with this:
That guy who jumped into his car and went home with his milk did so in mesh shorts, beat up shoes with no socks, is a 32 year old white person blaring Eminem from his Jeep.
Judge not lest ye be judged.