I'm a bad-butt all right. I pulled a fast one at The Devil's Playground. Actually, I didn't. But somebody THINKS I did. And THINKING is nine-tenths of perception.
There I was, Ponyless, pushing my cart to the checkout. I needed my fix. My weekly dose of not-so-reliable news. A Globe. And an Enquirer. Without my right-hand equine, I had to gather those mags for myself. Did you know that The Devil does quite a bit of business right before the holidays, and righter before the end of the world? It's true. That establishment was packed.
I wheeled my cart near the checkout lanes. I wanted to cut through a gap on the main aisle to get at my newsy papers. But my way through, between a battery display and a movie candy display, was blocked by a battleax and her cart. I moved on down the main aisle. Sweaved a bit. Grabbed my pulp fact-or-fiction, and wheeled into my favorite checkout.
The blood leaking down my neck from the burn seared into the back of my head made me curious. I turned around. To see Battleax glaring at me. MOI! Like I was a line-jumper. Oh, so sorry. EXCUUUUUUSE ME! (Put a little Steve Martin flair on that for me). You snooze, you lose. Loser.
If you park your cart between two displays on the main aisle, waiting to see which of three lines are going to move the fastest, you deserve to be caught looking when a spot is taken. I did NOT turn and ask if I took her place. I did not. She was clearly waiting.An opportunist. Make that an INopportunist.
Advantage. Mrs. Hillbilly Mom.