I get a kick out of the little old people working at Wal mart. I love how friendly they are with their silver hair and chatty ways. I think the little aprons they wear are cute on their wrinkly little bodies and the accompanying
Hello, my name is ______________ tag is just precious. I only accepted a few months ago that anyone over 60 has a first name that can be used without a last name. I love those darling names, Betty Lou, George, Doris, Ted, and that they delight in my young children and wouldn't think of letting me start a shopping trip with a rain or snow damp cart.
A couple days ago I ran to Wal mart for girl products and fabric, I don't go without an agenda, that's just, "Settin' yerself up fer spendin' $300.00 dollars on clearance thatcha didn't need, but was just such a great deal!"
I quickly found what I needed in the fabric department then waited for the little old employee to finish chatting with the little old customer ahead of me. As she leaned over to cut my fabric I tried not to watch in horror as her large unconfined bosoms lolled along the width of the fabric dangerously close to the large shears she was cutting with.
Where was her Cute little apron? Where the heck was her bra? Where, for the love of all things holy, was the OSHA policy requiring people who work with large scissors to keep the girls contained.
And that reminds me of a joke, Uhh...if you have a delicate little sense of humor dearie, you should just stop reading right here.
What did one breast say to the other?
If we don't get some support soon people will think we're nuts.