Portents, Part Two.

Last week I posted a picture which I felt reflected a series of cosmic warnings that something might be "afoot" in my little corner of the universe. I awoke bright and early to find this in the living room and questioned whether my cats had somehow developed certain construction skills that might foretell the end of life as we know it:

Kitty Stonehenge?

What I didn't share was what happened the next day. I was cleaning the litterbox as is the duty of any good handmaiden to spoiled kitties and discovered the colorful little fuzzy ball carefully secreted away amongst the other clumps. What did this mean? There were several possiblilites.

1. The cats were attempting to hide the evidence of their evolutionary leap and are even smarter than I originally thought.

2. The cats have developed strange snacking habits and are even more stupid than I originally thought.

3. Late-night kitty play sometimes goes awry.

Keeping in mind that there had been so very many warnings of interesting times ahead, I decided to keep an open mind on this one. Yet, despite my concern, there had been no disasters of note. My TB test was negative, a zepplin did not strike my car and my recent hair appointment went well. The waiting was killing me!

My patience was rewarded today with a visit from the Gods of Stupidity as I attempted to complete a simple trip to WalMart. Recent "judgment errors" in the sewing of the new knitting tote required that I return to the store for more supplies. I arrived without difficulty. And the air conditioning was so delightful. That was the end of "pleasant."

There is no one working in the craft department on Sundays. I rang the little bell but, in fairness, am a tad self-conscious when it comes to the bell-ringing so I can't say that I gave it my all. Fortunately, another woman (less inhibited than I) arrived and gave that brass bad boy the ringing of it's life. Within ten minutes we had someone from electronics over to provide us with dubious assistance. We filled the time with discussing our mutual difficulty cutting straight lines. Turns out the lady from electronics couldn't cut straight either. We all had a fine time chatting about our common disability.

I then spent twenty minutes trying to find where they were hiding the staples.

I knocked over a display of chocolates as I discreetly tried to place a bag in my cart. I wasn't there to buy chocolate. I bought two bags to atone for my clumsiness.

I almost ran over an elderly woman who was attempting to maneuver her Rascal through the hardware department. (I was excited because that's where the staples were for my staple gun.)

Having alienated a number of employees and patrons, I felt that my work there was done and headed for the check-out. I got distracted by a Hi-Def TV display showing Lilo and Stitch and missed the little check-out girl who was trying to get me to move to the next open lane. Just as the person behind me was getting ready to commit justified homicide by running me over with their cart, I realized what I was being asked to do and shifted lanes.

Once in my new lane, I was told that I needed to wait as the gentleman ahead of me was wandering about the cereal aisle to find a bag that did not have a gaping hole in it. He was spotted and it was reported that he was moving quite slowly. My original plan was to give this inconsiderate fellow the nastiest look ever bestowed upon his form. However, upon noting that he was somewhere around 6'4" and looking for all the world like a walking wall in a flannel shirt, I changed my plan and simply avoided eye contact.

After checking out, I felt that I had made it through the retail gauntlet and that I had more than earned a reprieve from the rain of poo the universe was seeing fit to place upon my head. It was then that I noticed the two girls moving at a rapid rate past and ahead of me. I've been in the mental health field long enough to know an guided escort when I see one. And, while this was not one of the situations in which I see them professionally, I do have the common sense to get out of the way when I observe one person frantically guiding someone in a certain direction. In this case, it was the restroom. The "escortee" almost made it. She was within five feet.

And then she hurled.

The "escorter" ( a sister, I believe) did what anyone would do in that situation and retreated. Her leap backwards forced me into a direct puke path. Now, let's face it: Sheep are not known for their speed and maneuverability. If they were, we would race them. But this Sheep executed several moves previously unseen in her kind and was able to successfully negotiate her way around the offending substance with her shoes unsullied and her pedicure intact. I took this as a sign that the portents had been satisfied and that I could get on with my life.

And aside from a couple of sewing-related disasters, things have been quiet ever since. With any luck, that's all I'll see from the good folks at Karma R Us. Just to be on the safe side, I will be avoiding WalMart for a while.

They don't want me back there anyway.

SA