My friend the milkman

So I finally do get to the store, with only 30 minutes to run around Wal-mart, which by the way, is honestly what I consider H-E-double hockey sticks (my kids won't let me write it) to be like. From everything to being treated like a criminal when they scan your returned items at the door, to installing televisions in the checkout lines -- basically saying,

"WE GIVE UP! WE KNOW YOU ARE GOING TO WAIT IN THIS LINE FOR AN HOUR SO WE MIGHT AS WELL ATTEMPT TO ENTERTAIN YOU WITH WAL-MART PROPAGANDA AND FILLER COMMERCIALS." My only saving grace is self-checkout.

Okay, getting down off my soapbox, I'm dashing around, trying to think about what I can buy for this Ice Cream Social we are having at my house tonight for the HOA board, when I hear my name being called out. I'm by the milk fridge, and I look around, see no one, so I begin peering in between the milk shelves. There is someone in there loading the milk. So of course, it must be him. Convinced he's trying to talk to me, I keep looking in, trying to make eye contact. I do this three times because I must know someone who's behind the milk? The only person I can think of is Troy Hancock, who works at Shamrock, but I'm pretty sure he's not in the cooler.

By this time I'm pretty sure the milkman's getting a little concerned. I can barely see him, but I'm just so confused. I now have way too much milk in my cart, but I'm too embarrassed to put any back at this point. I finally give up, turn around and see my friend Marie walking up. Of course she starts yelling at me saying Wal-Mart milk is bad and that I should only buy Costco milk. There is NO WAY I'm putting this back, and at this point I have about 5 minutes to grab Magic Shell and get out the door. Bye, bye Marie. See you in self-checkout.