Mullets and Boxed Wine

Blog? Blog? Where are you? Oh, THERE you are!!

After a year of neglect and, to be quite honest, forgetfulness, my ramblings have been given mouth-to-mouth resuscitation by a mulleted friend at the HEB grocery store.

He was glorious. Curly locks flowed gracefully to his waist, his face framed by delicate bangs. His black wife-beater shirt (complete with obscure death metal tour dates on back) gave the distinct impression that he was a true "manly man." Despite his unmistakable Anglo features, the dreamcatcher tattoo placed strikingly upon his pale bicep was testament to his love toward our Native brothers.

His wife/girlfriend/babymomma was equally fabulous, black bra straps on display above her shoulderless neon top- and black daisy dukes riding up to where the sun don't shine.

I stared (while trying to remain inconspicuous) throughout the 15-minute-ring-up while the inept clerk finally realized that lactose-free milk doesn't fall under WIC criteria. I decidedly did not wonder, while fingering my hard plastic bank card, how they could nonchalantly pay for tonight's meal with four crisp new twenty-dollar bills.

Then I looked down at my scant 4-item purchase. A loaf of fresh-baked French bread, fancy Camembert cheese, sashimi-grade tuna steak and...

a BOX of wine.

Next time I go shopping, I better dress the part.