Friday night the wife and I were retuning from a quick sandwich when she said those words I most hate to hear: "We need to stop by WalMart". I repeat -- it was eight o'clock on a Friday night. I asked if I could have a prostate exam and my fingernails pulled off instead. Perhaps, I suggested, I could suffer a session of waterboarding. I would do anything to avoid WalMart on a Friday night.
We pulled into the lot and there was barely a car in sight. I scratched my head in confusion. In the distance I heard the sound of roaring engines and remembered, the County Fair was in session. I was missing the tractor pull! WalMart was empty because the white trash that clogs the aisles, drives the fat-ass electric carts, and unleashes D-Day-type waves of screaming hordes of dirty offspring into the toy section were busy buying elephant ears and riding the tilt-a-whirl. We did our shopping in peace and quiet. The wife only saw one or two people that she knew and the trip was shorter than usual. Of course, in typical WalMart fashion only four of the fifty registers were open, so the check-out lines remained WalMart long.
I tried to get the wife to go to the fair, but she declined. Oh well, another summer Friday night was in the bag. I bet you wish you lived my life.