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.