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2002-06-10 - 4:06 p.m.

Almost anything in life is easier to get into than out of.

I learned that lesson again today when I decided to go shopping. Gregg and Velda’s oldest daughter, Brew-Crew-In-Training, is getting married June 22, and several weeks ago she was home talking about silly wedding showers. Agreeing with her the typical shower was dull and predictable, I offered to throw her a shower that would be anything but ordinary.

“Awesome, Chuck (I’ve been Chuck to this kid for several years). Let’s have a party!”

And a party was planned for June 15. Since Brew-Crew-In-Training follows in the footsteps of the more mature Crew members and is a water rat, we’re having the “You Call This A Wedding Shower?” shower on the boats in Party Cove at the lake.There won’t be a hoity-toity dress in the crowd, nor will the guys (it’s for couples) be required to dress in anything but lake gear (although, Gregg, you might want to sew up the britches you ripped on Sunday).

While in town this morning I realized I had yet to find the perfect shower gifts for the future Mr. and Mrs. Nelson. The shopping trip, like the shower, couldn’t be my ordinary wedding shower shopping spree. The theme--or rather scheme--of the party doesn’t lend itself to kitchen wares or bath accessories at Wal-Mart. I wasn’t going to find what I wanted in the gourmet cooking section at Westlake's, and Edna Campbell’s certainly wasn’t going to stock it. Nor could I buy my usual shower or wedding gift from the kid’s mother’s pottery studio.

I knew where I had to go, but going there presented a dilemma. I was not going there alone! I am brave up to a point, and taking myself into our little city’s adult store by myowndamnself is beyond that point. So I go and get SueSue and make her go along with me.

Problem solved.

I should’ve known better!

The store is prominently located downtown and the only parking available this morning was right in front of the place. Wonderful, my damn cherry red Jeep stuck out like a sore thumb. But I bit the bullet, parked and got out, all the while scanning the area for familiar faces. With any luck we could sneak in and out without notice.

The sidewalks downtown are cobblestone and irregular, and SueSue had on a pair of flip flop sandals. I skulked toward the door when SueSue’s sandals flip on the corner of a stone and she went flopping and flapping and crashing into the store’s door. So much for a quiet, inconspicuous entrance.

Inside, the clerk was behind the counter eating a fruit bowl lunch and a man was perusing the videos near the back. SueSue and I go into covert browse mode, staying near the front skimpy-clothing section until we worked up courage to inspect the other merchandise. We looked at G-strings and teddies and bikini underwear and eventually found ourselves in the, well, toy section is what SueSue called it. My.My.My.

SueSue was laughing and pointing out possible gifts while I stood, openmouthed, saying absolutely nothing. When I did speak, I told SueSue: “I really gotta get out more!” Obviously the clerk heard me and decided to liven up his lunch hour by assisting the greenhorns. When he asked if he could help I asked about men’s underwear other than what was on the rack.

Bad idea.

He had just the thing, only it was in the display window. And he was not going to take it out of the window. No, I had to go into the display window to see it. Sweet Jesus! I follow him into the front window for God and everyone to see, and SueSue takes this opportunity to stick her head into the glass enclosure and inform me my Sainted Mother and her bridge club had just driven by. It was my turn to go flopping and flapping and crashing out through the door back into the store.

Both SueSue and the clerk were in hysterics, and the clerk is now certain he has some lunch-hour entertainment. He started bringing things out from under the counter. OHMY.OHMY.OHMY. Things you drink. Topical gels. Strange gizmos. Leather gadgets. As I’m wondering who buys these strange contraptions a 300-pound lady in her late 50s entered the store and the clerk--thank you God--moved to help her. As it turns out she was there to return a bright blue widget she said “will jump around but won’t vibrate.”

I clamped a hand over my mouth and stumbled away from the counter and went in frantic search of my shopping partner who was over inspecting a rack of cards. The cards are near the video section and the man was still there reading movie titles. Or that’s what I thought he was doing until he turned toward us and I quickly realized he was--to use a Missouri Euphemism--spanking his monkey!

I squeaked out: “SueSue, we’re outta here,” grabbed her by the arm and hauled her back through the store, nearly crashing us both into the woman complaining about the jumping, faulty blue widget.

Although I’ve complained about Wal-Mart in the past, I will be limiting my shopping trips to Sam’s Department Store in the future!

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