Today I went to Wal-Mart for my weekly visit. On a whim I wandered into the clothing section to see if the sweatpants and shirts might be on sale. Since we’re near the end of the harshest winter in my memory, my uniform (aka my sweat wardrobe) is permanently tattooed with chili stains and puppy throw up. (Feeding the left over chili to pets is never a good idea.)
Indeed, the sweats were on sale. (I’ve been watching a lot of British television on Netflix and have adopted a slight British accent and say things like “indeed” when agreeing with