THAT'S ONE MORE PLACE I CAN NEVER GO INSIDE AGAIN

After work yesterday, I stopped by Winn Dixie which is a grocery chain in the South made somewhat famous by the movie "Because of Winn Dixie" which I haven't seen but from the previews I'm guessing is about a girl and her dog and not the day-to-day operation of a grocery chain but I could be wrong and maybe it is a documentary about the grocery chain and a girl and her dog live inside one of the stores on Aisle 12 or some crazy assed shit like that. And maybe the girl gets pregnant by the dog and they have a little dogboy that lives in the produce section. If that's the case, maybe I'll rent it. Otherwise ... no.

So anyway, I stop there to retrieve a box or 12 of Andrew's new favorite cereal ... Princess Cereal.

I grab one of those little hand-held baskets because if I grab a cart and load it full of Princess cereal then I look like a real pervert, y'know?

Yeah.

So after a little searching, I find the cereal aisle (let's be honest ... I don't shop much at Winn-Dixie simply because of my latent fear of roving dogboys) and start scouring the hundreds of boxes of cartoon-character shilling cereals in order to find the Disney Princesses staring back at me with their big ol' sexy cartoon eyes.

No such luck.

I don't hold this against Winn Dixie. They've recently declared bankruptcy and have probably had to cut back on some of the food items they offer and first to go was that fucking Princess Cereal because the last thing a bunch of people shopping at a store that's gone bankrupt probably want to see is some hoity-toity cartoon chick flaunting the fact that she's a princess while you're out in public in curlers and filthy bedroom slippers.

So I decide to go to Walmart because that's where we got the Princess cereal in the first place.

I'm leaving and this employee says "I can take your basket, sir."

Oh snap.

I was REALLY hoping I could sneak out of the store with this lovely plastic basket. It woulda been great for storing all my bestiality porn magazines.

Whatever.

"Here you go!" I said, all chirpily because I felt like being chirpily.

Chirp! Chirp!

Just then, the manager of the store walks over to me.

Just as I'm walking out the electric door.

"Couldn't find what you needed, sir?" he asks.

"Nope!"I chirped. "But it's okay!"

"What is it you were looking for?" he asks.

At this point, I'm standing in the doorway of the electric exit door.

The door has done me the courtesy of opening for me and wants to close automatically now.

Except I'm standing in it's little laser pathway and it can't close until I've completely exited its path or ... BAM! LAWSUIT, BABY!! I'LL BE OWNING WINN DIXIE AND ALL ITS ILLEGITIMATE DOGBOYS RUNNING AROUND EATING LETTUCE AFTER HOURS!!!

So I walk back into the store.

And I hesitate.

Because now there's a group of concerned employees standing around waiting to find out just what the hell I wanted so damned badly that I couldn't find in their warehouse of a grocery store.

"Uhhhh ... Princess Cereal," I mumbled.

"Princess Cereal?" the manager asked. "I've never heard of it."

"It's ... uhhhhh ... it's got Snow White and Cinderella and a bunch of princesses on the box," I tried to describe.

At this point, I'm feeling REALLY perverted.

Middle-aged guy.

Talking about princesses to a bunch of strangers in the entranceway of a busy grocery store.

Paging Michael Jackson ... Paging Michael Jackson ...

"I'm sorry sir," the manager said, thinking he had a real nutjob on his hands at this point, because here's some guy talking about a cereal box with hot chicks on the front and he's a manager of a grocery store with hundreds of different cereals taking up an entire aisle of his store and he's NEVER seen such a box in his life so he's thinking that I'm delusional and probably escaped from the funny farm with the sole reason of fondling a cardboard Tinkerbell.

"It's okay," I said as I went to leave again.

But then ... for some strange-assed reason ... I felt as if I needed to justify my search to these people.

After all ... here I was talking about some cereal that for all intents and purposes did not exist in their little grocery store world.

I turned back around and faced them all.

"The cereal is for my little ..."

Shit.

Shit, shit, shit.

If I say this, they're going to call the cops on me, truly believing that I'm a wackjob.

Fine.

I'll LIE.

" .... girl."

They stood there staring at me.

I stared back.

I then turned around and left in silence.

Now ... thanks to my idiocy ... I have to make a mental note to never take Andrew in that store ... EVER.

If I slip up and forget, I can just hear the manager now.

"Sir ... that's not a little girl. It's a little boy."

Great.

Just great.

That's one more place I can never go inside again.