I Am Legallyblondemel. I Am Six.

To crib from "Eloise", the greatest book ever penned for little girls and grown-up little girls alike, there are days when I suspect I haven't much progressed much in my 30 21 years. Thanks to the tag award & challenge bestowed on me by the charming ladies at Preppy Little Dress and The Dirty Martini Diaries, I took pause today to consider just some of these very qualities, or un-qualities, as it were.

I fear from the tenor of this week's posts that you might envision me as an old biddy creaking back-and-forth in her rocking chair, crocheting doilies as I recite Crane's Blue Book of Stationery chapter and verse (not that there's anything wrong with that!), tsk-tsking about Those Kids Nowadays, and speaking in the third person to my phalanx of cats. Although I'm most assuredly and proudly traditional in many aspects, The Pretty here can knock back a cocktail or six with the best of them, and is usually in active pursuit of doing so. Furthermore, I more often than not can be found holding the couch down, wearing my Tarjay jammies, attempting to do as little as possible save watching some inexcusable television* and telepathically willing the dishes in the sink to wash themselves already. *Seriously, citizens of Atlanta, I fear for you if your "Real Housewives" in any way represents actual neighbors. Seriously.

So in the spirit of the tag - except completely cheating, as I'm sharing just one random story here (ask away in the comments if you'd like to know any others) - and veering off the Pretty Path a bit, I bring you The Uncomfortable Drugstore Purchase, my most recent of which happened today. You know the one . . . involving feminine products?

Make no mistake, I make no claim as to being the only woman who is made uncomfortable by this; in fact, I think it's listed somewhere on the back of our Woman Cards that this buy be the most squirmy and awful 5 minutes of whichever day on which it unfortunately falls. I don't know why exactly this is uncomfortable at all, given that everyone who has suffered through that "Miracle of Life" video is entirely too familiar with the concept, in addition to the 50% odd percent of us who, you know, have lady parts and stuff, but nonetheless, The Purchase just doesn't seem to get less traumatic with age.

No, my claim to fame lies in my blissfully reliable cashier selection & resultant reaction to same. Without fail, each and every single time I enter a Walgreen's and attempt to furtively just buy the FPs and hastily get on with my day already, the following will occur:

- I will pick the slowest line, which at least has a friendly female cashier at the helm, only to be repeatedly and unavoidably called over to the newly-opened line. Do I really have to add that the cashier manning this new line is, well, a man, and usually some combination of handsome, a teenager, or a handsome teenager who completed Health Ed. not one semester ago?

- Upon placing my lonely FPs on the conveyor - because in these instances, I've inevitably forgotten to hide my purchases under cover of pretextual boxed wine or Q-Tips, the following uncomfortable exchange will occur, following the same 3 predictable stages every blessed time:

Stage 1
Male Cashier (all sunshine and unicorns and rainbow-y voiced): "Hello, Ma'am! How are you today?'
Legallyblondemel (avoiding eye contact as I mutter): "Umyesfineokthanks."

Stage 2
MC (eyes fall upon the FP while blood drains from face): "Oh, um . . . did you find everything OK?" (unicorns and rainbows have rapidly and irretrievably departed the building).
ME (suddenly seized by insane desire to abandon ladylike demeanor and grab said FPs, one in each hand in manner of pom-poms, jazz hands aloft, and bellow at the top of my lungs):

"Why, YES, er (peers angrily at employee nametag), Jared, I DID manage to find the TAMPONS! TAMPONS TAMPONS TAMPONS! Regular, premium, and super-unleaded TAMPONS! In Aisle 3, more TAMPONS than you can shake a stick at! Would you like to talk about it some more, Jared? I could just talk TAMPONS all day with you here at your delightful cash register!"

ME (what I actually mutter): "Uhyesfineokthanks."

Stage 3
MC (relief washes over his face as transaction with berserk lady finishes): "Well, have a nice day!"
ME (exhaling a sigh of relief): "Uhyesfineokthanks."

Anyone else fight imaginary mental battles with cashiers on the average drugstore run? No? Just me then? (crickets chirping). My one fun fact indeed . . .

And because I just can't bear to send you off on such an Un-Pretty note - if I haven't already sent you running for the smelling salts with this post - before I bid you farewell for the week while I go drink too much beer listen to good live music at Austin City Limits and host some visiting friends, I wish you the best, FP-free, most fabulous weekend imaginable.

Smootches,