On Easter Sunday I did something I have never done before. I was the designated driver. This was a new role for me as I'm usually the one in the back seat, reeking of beer and screaming for White Castle hamburgers. We had Easter dinner at a Mexican place called Don Pablo's as nothing says the Resurrection of Christ quite like Mexican food.
Donna, my mother in law, had two Tijuana Teas (tequila & iced tea) and Flannery had a pitcher of sangria (red wine with fruit juice). Donna can hold her own when it comes to wine, but mixed drinks go right to her head. Flannery is the original cheap drunk and half a beer is enough to make her loopy. She had four or five sangrias and developed that familiar twinkle at the corner of her eye that tells me she has had a little too much.
We finished our meal when Donna said she wanted to go to Bed, Bath, & Beyond. My father in law didn't want to go so he would take the kids back to the house and I volunteered to drive them as I only had water with lunch. They didn't have the beer I wanted and I wasn't going to drink the swill they had on tap.
I had never been to Bed, Bath, & Beyond as that isn't really my idea of shopping. If I'm shopping, it's for new boots, britches, or beer. I am a man of simple needs and very little means, so my shopping is infrequent and selective. Now this place is geared to a woman's tastes and that obvious from the moment you walk in. The only thing masculine in the place is the variety of towels with sports team logos on them.
In five minutes, I have walked the entire store and seen everything there is to see. I have read the dirty novelty cards and looked over the overpriced lawn furniture. I was surprised to see that they had an extensive selection of condoms. I didn't know that Trojans came in so many varieties. They had a His/Hers two pack of lube for seventeen dollars that seemed like the perfect gift for the couple who have everything. Apparently this is the Beyond part of the store's name.
For the next two hours, my tipsy wife and drunken mother in law oohed and fingered every damn thing in the store. I found a demonstrator model of a back massager and watched an infomercial for a bowel cleaner called Colon-Blow. They kept showing the nasty sludge that this miracle product would make shoot out of your butt, all for the cut-rate price of fifty dollars. No thanks.
Which brings me to my title. We also got a new shower head for the master bath. It took longer to remove it from it's package than it took to install. I thought the back massager in the store was awesome but the new shower head borders on uphoria inducing. I could almost hear the music from a douche commercial playing in the background as I froliced under the orgasmic jets of H2o.
I guess this means I'm going to clean up my act.