Antique Crazy, Wal-Mart

Antique Wal-Mart Babe

Sunday, I violated not only one of God’s commandments, but one of my own: Thou shalt not go to Wal-Mart on the Sabbath. But it had to be done. We were out of Cheetos.

Usually when I darken the door of Wal-Mart in the middle of the week, I’m all dolled up in a pair of paint splattered cut-offs, a faded Old Navy tank top, flip flops, no makeup and a ponytail. I like to accessorize my look not with stylish earrings – that’s too expected for someone as trendy as moi – but with a toddler on my hip for a bit of whimsy. Since it was Sunday and I had been to church earlier in the day, I had on a dab of makeup and my hair had been recently washed. And I was minus a kid attached to my thighs like a bad pair of leggings. So, yeah, I was looking pretty good for me.

After selecting the least disgustingly filthy cart, I gave it a perfunctory Clorox swabbing and then headed into the store in task-mode ready to get the goods and get out of there. I stood near the entrance by the cookies, reviewing my list and making a mental plan of attack.

As I was going over my list, I felt someone looking at me. I felt it on my neck. I felt eyeballs on my neck. I lifted just my eyes from my list to see a young guy, maybe 24, clad in cowboy attire complete with Stetson, standing by the roasted chickens. Staring at me. I looked behind me to see whom it was that might have captured his attention, expecting to find a 20-something Carrie Underwood look-alike. No Carrie, just icky Wal-Mart cookies.

I looked back to my list and I felt the eyeballs again. He was still there. Still staring. I was still a little sensitive from my recent McDonald’s experience, so I checked my blouse to make sure it was buttoned.

Gawking cowboy or not, I had stuff to do, so I headed into the store — towards him but only because he was standing between me and my Cheetos. As I walked in his direction, he nervously strode off towards the ladies clothing, but unfortunately, he was still looking at me when he walked into a rounder of clothes. The last I saw of him was two cowboy boots sticking out from under a rack of ugly flame-stitched sweaters.

Is it really an ego boost when you’re turning heads in Wal-Mart? But then again, at my age, you take what you can get.

17 thoughts on “Antique Wal-Mart Babe

  1. I had a similar experience at a Golden Corral (think American hog trough – and yes, we do eat there sometimes), only I was nine-months pregnant at the time. So it was extra special.

  2. My friend once said she was a “goober magnet” and only weirdos watched or “stared” at her. I’m of the opinion that if you are past the age of 40 and get stared at, be thankful. Cause most days when I look in the mirror, I think things like “I used to be pretty.”

  3. What a nice little moment for you. Why not get appreciated a little when you are forced to hit Wal-Mart on a weekend? Speaking as a fellow antique, I’d have been amused and delighted.

  4. Eyeballs on your neck! What a experience!

    You KNOW there are other men staring at you–this guy just didn’t have the social skills to do it discreetly. Or walk.

  5. Hey… I stared at you, too. But that was because of the bbq hanging off your chin. Not quite the same thing, huh?

    Seriously, you are one hot mamma, so despite the creepiness of the whole thing happening at a Wal-Mart of all places, I’d take it for the compliment it probably was, and then never go back to WM on the Sabbath again. (Now you know why that commandment was made in the first place!)

  6. I get the Mauritanian men staring at me with big smiles…I don’t take it personally though, as I know it’s my plumpness combined with my golden American passport. At least for you it was genuine…if a little geeky. That’ll teach you to wear make-up to Walmart! πŸ™‚

  7. I just read about your Mary Tyler Moore day and I laughed until I cried! Thanks. I too am about your age with preschoolers and some older ones also. I’m having challenges with the 2 year old with potty training. Reading about the philosophy you have with your son helped me chill out and laugh.

  8. I’m not allowed to tell cowboy-staring stories, because it makes my husband mad, jealous, or perhaps he thinks I simply must be making it all up. But these sitations happen to me as well which totally cracks the old woman in me up. How do you get away with writing about it?

  9. Oh…you lucky girl! A googling Walmart cowboy! I haven’t had a good googling in a while, as since I’m 43 with a 7 and 4 year old (four year old still occasionally fits on hip- she’s very light) I understand the ego-boost involved.
    Good for you for making him fall into the sweaters!

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