A woman walks into a pet store. Her destination? The lonely back corner where the bags of dog and cat food are shelved. She rounds the corner of the aisle to find a man with his hand down the back of his pants scratching his right cheek. She (if she does say so herself) rather impressively makes it look like she didn’t see anything, to spare him the embarrassment.
I – I mean she – dilly dallies around, making sure she got the right bag since she’s been known to grab the item next to the item she wanted. (Once she came home with “Explosive Pizza” goldfish crackers. Does anyone not think of the phrase “explosive diarrhea” when they hear that?) Then she realizes that there is only one cashier, and if Itchy chooses his dog food before she chooses her cat food, he will use his scratching hand to give his payment to the cashier, who will use her contaminated hand to give my – I mean her – bag and receipt to me. Her.
She snatches the bag (the right one!) and speedwalks around the far end of the aisle so Itchy won’t see her craziness. She jets down the next aisle, but she can see him between the shelves, taking his bag and heading for the front. He cuts her off at the pass! He gets there first!
When he leaves, she hesitates before putting her cat food on the counter. Should she tell the cashier, “You might want to wash your hands after what I saw that guy doing in the back of the store?” She wants to. But she considers that all sorts of customers have done all sorts of things that she hasn’t seen, and she doesn’t want the cashier to think she’s crazy, so she says nothing – and curses herself for not carrying hand sanitizer in her car.