Dear Sir...or... Madam? whatever, shave your face, don't get all pissy with me because you can't pick up a bic

Today's top story: Local Woman escapes with her life, authorites search for "Wolverine" attacker.

I walk into Shoppers (bun dump ching! I know it's a joke in itself, F'n SDM.) Anyways I walk into Shoppers to pick up some milk on my way home from work. Now I know you are all familiar with my feelings towards SDM and are wondering to yourselves,"After all the shit they've put you through, why did you even go in? Are you a masochist or something?"

My answer is simply this, "No, I am NOT. I'm just Lazy, and their the closest to home. 'Lazy' me trumps 'Firey indignation' me every time."

So there I am in the dairy section, minding my business, looking for the 2% milk, which I can't quite see as there is a large man blocking my view. Being the extremely polite person that I was raised to be, of course I say,"Excuse me sir, can I please squeeze past you, I just need to grab a jug of milk?"

well, the mister turned out to be none other than a sister.

yep.

then she says in a low growl, "I think you mean Ma'am."

Really? Cause at this point I don't know what to think. Except, that I'm not a geneticist but based on your beard I'd say there's a good chance you're pack'n a pair of balls too.

Literally, it was ZZ Tops 4th member, no joke. (although I am giggling thinking about it)

The worst part was that I was thinking in my head but not talking with my mouth. So this has now become me in a stare down, with what could only be described as a Sasquatch in a stolen "Women's"(allegedly) parka, next to the 50% off sour cream. (Which by the way was not nearly as sour as the piss face I was getting from Fuzzywuzzy.)

Now I'm not a total jerk, I realize how much it must suck to grow hair on your face. And at first I did feel really bad for my mistake, although I would challenge any of you to tell the difference cause this was definitely one for the judges, but after our initial brief exchange, he/she grabs the last jug of 2% milk and says to me, "Where you looking for this? uh oh, looks like their out. Sorrrrrry."

I shit you not. And her, "Sorrrrrry" was all long-nasally sarcastic. And when they say it like that, you know they don't mean it.

I tell you, it's just lucky that it convinced me that there was a 50% chance it was a female or I would have kicked it in it's hairy balls. I didn't because I'm a lady and I don't hit girls. (Whores are another story, I will smack a whore full in mouth if she's sass'n me. No manners, those chicks. I'm kidding, I'd never smack a whore, the germs alone might kill me. It's just dangerous.)

Honestly, I was tempted to take it's license plate and call animal control, instead I settled for grabbing a handful of razors bags and stealthy placing them in it's basket before I busted out of there in a blaze of glory.

Small victory, but I'll take it.