Hobby Lobby’s home apparel is 30% to 50% off this week, and since my home is in need of apparel, I decided to go check out the inventory. I was looking for a couple big baskets to fit above my cupboards and some small tray-like baskets for the shelves around my television.
I had only been in Hobby Lobby a short while when I had to use the bathroom. I actually had to go earlier when I was in Target, but having an aversion to public waterworks, I decided to hold it. By the time I was standing in the middle of Hobby Lobby, the urge was to the point that I either go or it would go for me, so I dashed to the ladies’ room at the back of the store only to find an “Out of Order” sign on the door giving permission for women to use the men’s bathroom. Normally, I would have waited until I got to my next destination, but as I said before, I wasn’t the one making the decisions at this point. I creaked the men’s bathroom door open and called in my best Mrs. Doubtfire, “Hellewwwww?” No one called back, so I inched in and, not seeing anyone, dashed to the nearest stall. In the middle of *everything* (insert knowing look here), I hear the door open, and then shoes appear in the stall next to me. Sneakers. Size 12. Men’s.
“Ah, crap!” I thought (which was appropriate for where I was and what I was doing). I slid my Easytones out of his line of sight, the pink Reebok stripes most certainly incriminating me, and sat there waiting for him to leave. This dude must eat his fiber because he was done and out of there in a flash (or flush as the case may be). As he walked past the stall, I noticed he had on an olive drab t-shirt and similar colored shorts. I wanted to be able to identify him in the store for avoidance purposes, but now that I think about it, if I got a good look at him, he may have gotten. . .
Ewwwwww… I can’t think about that.
As soon as he finished washing his hands (kudos for being hygienic) and left, I flushed, zipped, washed, and waved my hand in front of the paper towel dispenser’s motion detector only to have it eject 2 inches of towel. “Good, holy Lord,” I mumbled a prayer, “now is not the time to be funny.” There I stood intermittently waving my hand at the detector and giving the paper towel a soft tug until I got enough to dry my hands. I rushed out of the bathroom, grabbed my cart and looking both ways for the man in olive drab and not seeing him, hung a right and headed to he woven basket section. Peering around the corner of each shelf along the way like Castle and Becket hunting down a murder suspect, I swiftly turned down aisle after aisle until I was deep within the woven basket section. I calmed myself in order to finish perusing the goods of Hobby Lobby. My eyes latched on to a shiny black basket tray that would work perfectly for holding Netflix movies and extra Wii rechargeable batteries and would fit on the shelf by the tv.
Plus it was 30 % off. By the time I realized I wasn’t going to find anything to go above my kitchen cupboards, I had forgotten all about the man in . . . What was he wearing?