My grandpa used to say "I'll be jiggered," whenever he saw something that amazed, astounded, or even confused him. I am neither amazed nor astounded, but I'd be lying if I didn't admit that I walk around confused at least 75% of the time (the other 25%, I'm generally hungry). Mostly, I just wanted to utter the phrase because it's been taking up space in my head since I woke up this morning. It was going to come out eventually, and I was either going to type it here or try it on for size the next time I was sitting on the toilet (that's my alone time nowadays).

There are some new developments in my life. I've gained about 10 lbs in the past couple months. I was SUPPOSED to be losing weight, but I'm starting to think I might not be in the right frame of mind. That doesn't necessarily mean I'm going to stop trying, but that also doesn't mean I didn't blissfully accept the nom-nommin' donuts my husband brought home after he took our oldest son to school this morning. Besides, what else was I supposed to do? I opened the paper sack and was instantly distracted by the blinding light, and I couldn't hear my conscience over the deafening blast of angels singing.

Yep. Hopeless.

I AM doing a thing or two to better myself, I promise. I started attending class at the most prestigious institution South May Avenue has ever seen. I originally tried this directly out of high school, but I started making googly eyes at this cute guy who frequented my workplace and ended up marrying him. That would have been all fine and good, but his sweetie of a mom chose to make a hobby of recreational litigation at or about the same time. Lucky for us, she eventually lost and found herself a new hobby that probably involves eating small children or domestic terrorism... and here I am in college again!

College is great. I read things and write stuff. I even read stuff and write things just to shake it all up a little. Only one of my classes is currently on campus, and this is a good thing because my vehicle can't seem to pass a Sonic without turning into the parking lot and extracting my debit card from my wallet all in one fluid motion. Not only is it a shameful vice, but it's probably the reason I can't make it across a campus no bigger than your average shopping mall without some heavy breathing involved. I always feel uncomfortable walking behind people after I've trudged up that huge-tacious uber-ramp that extends from the parking lot to the second floor. I literally sound like one of those pervert-heavy-breathing phone calls except there's no phone involved.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I do need to go wash my hair.

The other night, I made a late trip out to commit my very favorite of the seven deadly sins. No, it wasn't "lust," you perverts. It was good ol' gluttony. Somewhere deep in the middle of Oklahoma, I take residence in a town that might be considered painfully small. Everything closes up before the sun goes down, so if you want a late night snack, you may be taking a fifteen to twenty minute trip to the next largest town to get it. The hubby and I were both hankering for something extremely bad for us, so I volunteered to go get it. I needed the fresh air anyway.

After several minutes of perusing the Wal-Mart bakery, I settled on a chocolate truffle cake and some cookies (you know, for good measure). Completely assured that this purchase would make me hate myself in the morning, I strolled happily through the maze of night stockers, pallets stacked with boxes, and random late night shoppers. Naturally, the quickest route to the checkout was blocked at this time of night. The next quickest route was being blocked by a lady wearing a brightly colored dress and sponge rollers walking next to her husband (in a motorized cart, his prosthetic leg comfortably removed and propped up beside him).

When I finally made it to the checkout, it appeared that one lane was open near the door I had originally entered through. The cashier seemed a little preoccupied with disinfecting the conveyor belt, but upon noticing me, she partially looked up and motioned for me to come through her line anyway. I made quick apology in saying, "Sorry, I wasn't sure if you were ready or not," while rifling through my things to produce my Visa card. She replied, "It's okay, I was just cleaning that dirty thing off. You're much more important, though."

If you're thinking what I'm thinking, this woman deserves Wal-Mart employee of the year just for telling a customer that! I was impressed.

As soon as I found my card, I looked up and was about to swipe it when saw something that actually made me fumble and nearly drop it. I'm glad I had already put the cake and cookies down because I most assuredly would have dropped them. The poor women was suffering from an affliction that caused her to be covered in huge flesh colored bumps from what seemed like head to toe. I stifled a gasp and replaced it with a smile, making casual conversation during our transaction. Afterward, I wished her a good night and headed for the car. When I got there, I reflected for a second.

I truly wanted to punch myself in the face. I deserved it.

I was absolutely ashamed of myself for reacting. I can't believe I let myself be so surprised that I nearly dropped my debit card. What if I had been in her shoes? How would I have felt? I couldn't stop thinking about it on my drive home. I felt absolutely awful, and I wondered to myself what on earth her affliction could be. So, I looked it up. She suffers from Neurofibroma. The picture below is of a woman with a case of Neurofibroma in equal or lesser serverity to the woman I saw: