But I am a breasted American, of the vaginated variety. (It was pointed out to me at the range one day that there are a lot of breasted Americans of penised variety, hence the clarification.)
And being a breasted American of the vaginated variety, I get cravings. And ain't nothing right in *anyone's* world when a woman gets a craving.
I needed popcorn.
But not any old popcorn.
Nope.
Remember back in the day when KMart had a snack counter and you could go buy ice cream, slurpies, and popcorn?
I wanted *that* popcorn. The old, chewy stale stuff.
I tried. Oh, I tried buying some good popcorn from the store, but that didn't do it. I HAD to have KMart popcorn.
I hounded and hounded Jay for a couple of days and finally, we went to KMart yesterday. The snack counter is long gone, but I was hopeful they still had popcorn.
And they did!
Unfortunately, they only had two sizes; the small size wouldn't have lasted the drive out of the parking lot. However, the big size...
I'm pretty certain that Jay's banking on me being so sick of popcorn by the time this is finished that I'll never look at another kernel again.
Hey, Mom and Bill - guess what we're bringing for Thanksgiving dinner?
4 comments:
Married to a chef, and craving Kmart popcorn.
I guess that is better than being married to an unemployed basket weaver and craving caviar...
Bill
When I was little, I used to get lost on purpose at Wal-Mart so I could get a Slush Puppy because the snack counter is where they held the lost children and they gave us treats, I guess to shut up the ones who were crying.
Candance, you are a resourceful one, aren't you?
And Convict Diva? I nearly pissed myself!
I actually drove five miles out of my way so I could stop at the Farmers Market and get Kettlecorn~
Feel ya Sistah!
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