You know how sometimes you go to the grocery store and the ancient and slow as molasses cashier with the really bad wig decides to pile one of your items on top of the toddler-car portion of the cart even though there is plenty of room inside the cart because she's just weird and you figure eh whatever your car is right outside you can make it so you just leave it there and of course as soon as you get out of the store it falls off and then the totally hot fireman in full fireman regalia (including, I assume, the suspenders, although I couldn't be sure because he was wearing the coat and I love the suspenders, and even, oh my sweet lord, the hat, the hat!) who was responding to a false alarm in the very same store says "here, let me get that for you" and then grabs the fallen item and puts it back in your cart and smiles at you in a friendly way even though you are four and a half months pregnant and getting pretty chubby and did your hair three days ago and are pretending that it still looks good enough to wear out in public and your obnoxious maternity pants are sliding down your ass and giving you a big puffy bubble-butt thing? That happens to you too, right? Well, why is it that when it does happen, it's never your MILF Society membership card that fell or sexy black lacy lingerie, which they don't even sell in my grocery store, losers, or even, like, a bag of cucumbers or anything, no no, it's the toilet paper, always the toilet paper.
No wonder he didn't invite me to make out with him on top of the truck.