Every time I shop at WalMart, I feel like I am contributing to the economic decay of society. I also feel like I need to shower. I doubt many reading this blog would disagree with me, but just in case, allow me to remind you that my darling friend Roger found human poop on the stock room floor during his employment there. That's right. Poop.
Sadly, this does not completely stop me from shopping there from time to time. When a girl finds herself in want of milk, bread, table cloths, and Christmas lights at 9:00 at night, she is left without many options.
And so it was that Darling Face and I found ourselves at the local WalMart last night hunting the store for nursing pads.
Allow me to first announce that two departments I considered to be the most likely suspects, Infant/Baby and Pharmacy/Feminine Hygeine, are exceedingly far apart in a large store. Schmoopsie and I had combed both departments more than once before I finally broke down and approached a strawberry blonde employee who was straightening the shampoo.
Me: "Excuse me, could you tell me where to find nursing pads, please?"
I received in response that blank stare only acheived by those for whom English is not a primary language.
Employee: "Eh... for, um, ah-dults?"
Me: (thinking of all the lactating juveniles I know) "Yeah."
E: (confidently) "Obah deah." (Points to wall of Depends.)
Me: "Uh, no. Not that. Nursing pads. You know, like for breastfeeding mothers."
E: (stares) "Perhaps dah pharmacy?"
Sighing, Pookie Bear and I turned to search the shelves by ourselves. Several seconds later, however, our helpful friend joyfully bounded around the corner and shouted to get my attention.
E: "Oh, like dis?" And that is when, with great animation, she began circling her own nipples with her index fingers.
Me: "Uh... yeah."
And, still wildly gesturing at her own breasts, she excitedly explained that we could find them "by the di-pahs." I thanked her and started back across the store toward the Infant section. She, still eager to be helpful, strode purposefully parallel to our path, shouting "di-pahs" each time she caught a glimpse of us between the aisles.
In her defense, the pads were supposed to be right by the diapers. As it turns out, the box I was looking for was simply out of stock. We did locate a box of more expensive name-brand nursing pads. They are individually wrapped, which I consider a little wasteful.
Also, by individually wrapped, I mean INDIVIDUALLY. You know, for all those one-breasted nursing mothers.
Who may or may not be ah-dults.