Do not go to Kroger on a Sunday afternoon.
Do not do it.
Do. Not. Do. It.
Innocently enough, I went to Kroger today to pick up some things to make C's n D's for dinner tonight. I sometimes go to the neighborhood 'friendly' Kroger by SMU on Mockingbird. Getting to the *cussing* store is a headache enough. Not to mention that it is inhabited by either dust farting retirees, bratty SMU frat boys, and whole families of Lakewood pretty people with their 2.5 children, wife and husband, who take up the whole lane and won't move while they are selecting which brand of peanut butter to buy. Then you have the rude people that cut around you while you 'patiently' wait for what ever douche bag is deciding what kind of yogurt to buy.
And by the way... sometimes I'm as patient as my mother, or husband for that matter.
So, with all of my items hastily selected, I am pulling into the checkout lane and this older lady, all fluffed out with her skorts on, cute gold slip ons, and nicely manicured bouffant champagne hair doo, whips in front of me to grab herself a coke from the impulse item cold drink refrigerator strategically placed in the check out lane. This causes me to schreech on the brakes and reverse my cart which causes the wheel to go over my flip flopped foot, and run over my bunion. *Cuss* (not out loud... in my head)
I. Cussing. Hate. Kroger!