You are glad you aren't me.

On Tuesday night my beloved husband asked me if I could possibly go purchase for him one of these handy, dandy little products. Since, you know, he had one and had totally burnt out the motor on his big, hairy German self.

I agreed that I would go look for one. Yesterday while I had half the day off to take the children to the dentist and run errands, I decided I would see if I could locate the device.

I dropped the kids back at school after their appointment, loaded myself and Ginger up in the Santa Fe, and cruised down to the bank, the post office, and finally to Walgreens, where I immediately scored.

I was so pleased with myself and went to the counter to pay for my purchase. When I got in line I noticed that the cashier was looking at me kind of…strangely.

I thought that was very amusing. She was a young girl and I assumed she was probably just embarrassed for me that I was buying a product that advertises as something good to clean your nose hair out. I giggled to myself, thinking of what she would do if someone tried to purchase condoms or hemorrhoid cream.

As I moved up in the line, she kept casting glances at me until finally she was flat out staring at me when I was standing in front of her. I took this opportunity to make her as uncomfortable as possible by being unnaturally friendly.

“Hi LINDA!” I shrieked, reading her name off her nametag. “How are you today?”

“Um…” she stammered. “I’m…fine. How are you today ma’am?”

“I am SUPER! Thanks for ASKING!”

Linda looked at me in what can only be described as agony.

“Um,” she said. “Well, um, did you find everything you needed today?”

“Yes I certainly did Linda!” I exclaimed. “Thanks so much for asking!”

“Um, well, okay,” said Linda. “Have a nice day ma’am.”

“Linda! You just have the best day ever!” I said, as I exited.

I laughed to myself all the way to the car, thinking: What a silly girl. She was staring at ME and she had green and pink stripes on her fingernails. WHATEVER LINDA.

I got to the car and Ginger was sitting in the driver’s seat, waiting on me. I opened the door and as she was shoving over, something caught my eye.

The underwire. From my bra.

It had come loose, worked its way up, poked out of the top of my shirt, and was sitting on my neck.

FROM MY BRA.

And the worst part? This is the second time in two weeks that has happened to me. The first time was at work, where my MALE CO-WORKER gleefully informed me, “Your shirt looks like it has HORNS!”

I am amazed I was able to go back to work.

I’ll never be able to go to Walgreens again.