Treats.

I'm going to a friend's "This Ain't No Pink Neck" redneck BBQ tonight.  On the way home from work, I decided to stop at 7Eleven and pick up some artificially cream-filled snacks to assemble on a platter and bring for dessert, classy-like.  While waiting in line to pay, the plastic packages slipped from my hands, sending mini donuts and Dolly Madison Strawberry Coconut Zingers crashing to the floor.  Horrified someone would think I wasn't buying them ironically, I struggled to collect them from around the other customers' ankles and said "Oh!  Just getting these for a redneck BBQ!" far louder than necessary.  As if saying it was necessary at all.

They stared at me, indifferently.