I woke up on Saturday and realized we were out of toothpaste. I knew I’d be driving by a CVS later in the day so I took a swig of mouthwash and carried on with my day. When I arrived at CVS, my intention was to be quick. Well, that never happened. CVS has a way of feeding into my insecurities.
Within 30 seconds of entering the store, I was smacked in the face by the realization that my teeth weren’t white enough, my skin was too dry, my bowels weren’t functioning properly and I was a mean person for not purchasing a halloween card for my nieces and nephews.
As I crouched down to grab a container of $18 face lotion, my head connected with an advertisement that protruded from the shelf. I found myself looking in a mirror. Below the mirror was a sign that read “How tired are your eyes?” I quickly diverted my glance and discreetly placed the $30 eye cream into my basket.
I never should have cut through the vitamin aisle. Why did no one tell me that I probably suffered from bone loss? Into the basket went a 100-count container of calcium chews. And yogurt was no longer good enough for regulating my digestive system. All signs on the shelf pointed to a cutting edge advancement in healthy guts. A super strain of bacteria. A bargain I thought at $29.99.
As I turned to bolt to the register, I was confronted by a life-sized display of the Cottonelle lady. The one who surprises people while they’re taking a shit and shames them into admitting they don’t wipe properly. “Go Commando!” she’d scream. Oh my God, I thought. Am I one of those people? I threw a six pack of wipes into my basket. Just to be safe.
Finally, I was at the register.
“Cold weather is here,” said the clerk. “Can I persuade you to buy a lip balm? Moist lips are important.”
I panicked. “I’ll take the whole display.”
The clerk scanned my cherry lip balms and tossed them into one of my dozen overstuffed plastic bags. “Okay, today’s total comes to $179.88.”
I grunted, swiped my card, and waited for my 14-page receipt to print. “Oh look, you have 62 coupons printing.”
Eleven minutes later my coupons were ready. I grabbed my bags and reams of coupons and ran to my car. I’m so weak, I thought. I was probably half way home when I realized I didn’t fucking buy toothpaste. Nooooooooooo.