I left the house for the first time in almost a week and was greatly annoyed to find that many asshole-like celebrities also needed groceries. Yeah, Cameron, we all look like shit on Sunday. No Drew, no one is staring at you. Jesus, will I have to fight Lucy Liu over the last Carrot Ginger Soup? Is this store called Ralph's or Charlie's?
Anyway, then I had a frightening encounter with a coupon clipper in the bread aisle. In real life, Desperate Housewives are not my cup of tea. This woman told me where I could buy chili boxes at half the price. I replied:
"I'm going to tell you the same thing I told my cocaine-addled houseboy, I like paying full price for my chili boxes because I am young, gay and have a completely disposable income."
"I have children," she said, reorganizing her coupons. "It's like a game."
"If you say so." She went on about it long after I had escaped the carb aisle. It's no wonder I never go down there.
For all you reality buffs out there, I don't really have a houseboy with a cocaine problem. But if I did, he would surely get an earfull about my shopping habits. Yeah, I will drive an extra mile to go to a store that doesn't smell like rotten orange juice and I don't mind paying more for the things I like because I can. Now, please forgive me, I have to drive someone to the methadone clinic.