You all know her. She’s the bane of my existence. Check-Out Lady From Hell.

Somehow I lose myself about 20 seconds from finishing every single trip to the grocery store by my house. I’m all done picking stuff out and start towards the checkers when I forget that unspeakable horror lurks in aisle 6… the COLFH.

And without thinking I go right for her. I’m not clued in at first cause she has her back to me- plus I’ve already become engrossed in the latest Benn/Jenn/Brad/Ashton/Demi/Paris crap- or perhaps wondering how the Batboy’s face showed up in a cloud over Waco. But wait- what was that?

The Cackle.

Oh this is great. Craptabulous. I’m in the line of the all-time most annoying check-out lady. The type that opens and reads your greeting cards to you. “Ha. yeah, that’s a good one.” A good one? No a good one would be a card that said “Just run the friggin card across the red beam, genius, before the lady behind me beats you with a sack of potatoes.” That would be a good one.

She’s got the hint of a mullet and the most distracting perpetual cold sore in history. She can turn anything into a full-fledged conversation. ANY thing. “Ooooh. A man who knows how to shop. Way to get those savings.” Kindly shut your face-pit COLFH.

Now I looooove to talk. No surprise there. BUT there is a time and place. Yesterday I was in line with 40 pounds of ice. There was one woman in front of me with ONE item- a case of water. Here’s the scene:

COLFH: Hey there- got some water, eh? Well, let’s see if I can find the bar code.
Lady: Umm. yeah.
COLFH: Mmmmm. Got it.
COLFH: Have you seen our extreme special of the day? Bottles of sprite just 69 cents. (stares at bottle) 69 cents. that’s good.
Lady: Nah.

(COLFH stops the transaction to talk to the check out person next to her)

COLFH: (Mindless banter)
Lady: Um I thought the case was $2.99
COLFH: Nope, $3.99
Lady: But I read a circular
COLFH: Naw, Hon, it must’ve ended or something
Lady: It was for today
COLFH: Naw, it’s $3.99
Lady: Hmmmm… You know a dollar is real important to some people. In some countries it means life or death. Now I guess that kid I sponsor in Ethiopia will have to go without for a month.
COLFH: I could show you the circular-
Lady: No, he’ll manage somehow…
COLFH: Here. Let’s go through it together

(They combine their wits in order to finally answer the question nagging us all- can COLFH read?)

COLFH: Well I’ll be- it’s right there. Lemme spend a minute staring at the barcode…
COLFH: It’s definitely the one.
COLFH: Oh wait- the sale starts tomorrow…. ha. wow. that was great.

(I kick down the potato chip display and skewer the COLFH with a flagpole from the Fourth of July display- no wait- I just stand there and fume.)

Lady: I guess I’m just a hair away from retarded.
COLFH: Same here. I can’t for the life of me figure out why I’m still breathing. Ha ha ha. Whew. Have a great day.

COLFH: Hello sir, wow- that’s a lot of ice. Pretty cold, huh?
Me: (cold stare of a psychopath)
COLFH: Alrighty, is that gonna be it?
Me: You have no idea.
COLFH: Have you seen our ext-
Me: (interrupting with stare of doom) not now.

COLFH: Well all set- you have a great day sir, blah blah blah lot of ice blah blaah hah inane musings blah blah….

So Heidi and I are at what experienced couples would call an impasse.

We don’t see eye to eye on a particular subject and I’m not sure how I feel about it. Now, I’m not calling it an argument for a few reasons. First, neither of us have intentional hurt the other’s feelings over it- and I respect the fact that she stands by her opinion, I just don’t like it. I dunno how many of our readers have had a similar discussion with their significant others, but let me tell you- don’t open this Pandora’s box unless you’re totally prepared to hear the answer.

Heidi says that if I were to become a flesh-eating zombie that she’d have no problem blowing my brains to kingdom come.

That’s just kind of hard to hear, you know? I mean I asked the question knowing full well that she’d be honest about it but I just don’t look at her the same now. I’d have a heck of a hard time putting her down if she was a zombie.

I don’t know how I could possible reconcile it. There she’d be- all cute and snuggly- my little bunny-bear, except she’d be the walking dead. She’d probably have a little bit of our neighbor hanging on her chin or something, and a touch of the crazy eye- but come on, she’d still be my wife. How could I take a shotgun or a shovel or something to the soulless shell that used to be my wife?

But of course, she says that she wouldn’t think twice. According to her, the moment she catches me feasting on the warm corpse of another human being the bonds of holy matrimony are effectively severed. I don’t know. It just seems cold.

When she says it there’s just this steely resolve in her eye, like she’s already counted the cost. I can tell you this- I wouldn’t do it. I couldn’t. I’d probably keep her locked up in the basement or something. Perhaps send her a neighborhood dog once and a while to keep her happy, but I’d never intentionally send her cute little lifeless body into the sweet hereafter. Maybe it’s a guy thing- we’re far more influenced by looks than women are.

A few times I’ve entertained the idea of letting her munch on a forearm or something in a attempt to join her in zombiedom, but it’s a bridge I don’t want to cross till I come to it. For now, I just have to live with a woman who is fully prepared to finish me off if and when the time comes.

If you can offer any helpful advice or insight, please do.

HA. Well, it seems our friend Dr. Atkins was a fatty in poor health. HA! That’s got to be the best story of 2004. Atkins dieteers are worse than some new religious converts. I half expect to see a couple of them at my door Saturday morning, asking:

“Friend, are you truely happy with your carbs? Have you thought about what you’ll weigh when you die? I was a miserable wreck before Dr. Atkins showed me way out of danishes and into the light.”

Or even better, on the plane…

“Everyone on the Atkins diet raise your hand. Everyone else, you’re crazy.”

They act like its ushering in the second coming. Most of you aren’t even doing it right- you’re just starving their body of the stuff it needs: and why? Because it’s a heck of a lot easier than say, EATING A BALANCED DIET AND, OH I DON’T KNOW, GOING FOR A JOG OR TWO?!?!?? So not only do you put unnecessary strain on your organs with massive loads of protein and cholesterol, you shock it and take away a major energy source in order to lose a few quick pounds. Ugh. Then it’s just a matter of time before you give in to the massive cravings you’ve kick started and you go on a bender eating whole loaves at a time.

Actually, all that isn’t even bad. It’s the fact that you try to tell everyone its the cure to all their problems. Junkies lose weight too. Not only that but they get to eat bread too. Maybe the next one after the South Beach should be the Back-Alley Meth diet. Go promote that one.

I understand we eat too many carbs, so don’t try to educate me on that one. BUT I also don’t want to hear that I should cut out the one constant PART OF EVERY CIVILIZATION’S MEALS SINCE THE BEGINNING OF RECORDED HISTORY because a portly man in poor health wrote a book on it. I’ve stopped trying to cram what makes me happy down people’s throats, if it really works people will go for it. Besides, you don’t need more people to subscribe just to make it seem more valid.

Fads like low-carb diets and Orkut services are teaming up to make the new millennium unbearable already. Next we’re gonna hear that the creators of Friendster are lonely hermits.

Caught the last part of an expose the other night on those kids who nearly beat the crap out of you to sell you magazine subscriptions. You know what I’m talking about. You come home and there’s one in your living room sitting in the dark. “I knew you’d show up some time, Mr. Adkins,” he says, swiveling the chair to face me. “I understand how you deterred my associates who visited your office building today- but how do you plan to MAKE IT PAST ME!” At this he jumps up, throwing back his trenchcoat (IN SLOW MOTION) to reveal a gleaming arsenal of machineguns and anti-aircraft weapons.

I dive behind the livingroom wall JUST AS HE SPRAYS A LINE OF BULLETS right above my head. Scrambling for the kitchen, I dart to the pantry, detecting the faint metal clink clink clink of a stun grenade bouncing around the corner! I slam open the pantry, fumbling for a meat cleaver- or skewers- ANYTHING. All I get is a pizza cutter… AND my sawed off shotgun! I dive thru the window into the backyard just as the grenade takes out all the new italian decor Heidi got to redo the kitchen.

“You don’t understand, Mr. Adkins! I’m in second place to win a trip to Tahiti. If you just get one subscription to Vibe or something I could WIN!!! Don’t you want me to win?”

“Never!!!” I scream, just before I raise the Shotgun to pump a few shots backwards over my head into the kitchen, “It’s all a clever rouse- THERE IS NO TRIP TO TAHITI!” and you were NEVER IN SECOND PLACE!!!.” Silence. I begin to backstep towards the shed…

“So…” he begins as he steps from the bushes behind me. “It seems this game of cat and mouse has come to an end.” Hands up, I drop my gun. I know when I’m beat. “I have your checkbook right here- I hope you don’t mind but I took the liberty of ordering you seventeen subscriptions to Reader’s Digest. With this in the system, I’m sure to win fir- ahhhhh yes, you and I both know there was no contest. BUT this is just enough to meet my quota and keep my supervisor off my back for one more day. Thank you Mr. Adkins”

Bang. One shot in the back. As he falls to his knees in complete surprise a red bead begins to grow on his chest. “That’s for the Italian decor, Punk.” Heidi was just in time- now we don’t have to figure out who to give all those Reader’s Digests to.

So I gave in to Heidi’s persitant requests and agreed to it. I keep on saying, “let’s wait” and “we’re just not at that point in our lives yet.” But as much as I say that I’m not ready for a new addition to the Adkins household… I caved in on Saturday and reluctantly agreed. I know, I know- it’s not the attitude to have. But you don’t understand. She’s at that point where she longs for a little one to raise and snuggle and play with. Me, I’d rather wait till we’re in a better financial position- and most importantly I just don’t feel ready.

So now it’s all about making it happen. We’ll probably start working on it this weekend. I’ve gotta tell you, I’m not looking forward to it. She’s the one that’s going to have all the fun- I’ll just go along with it, hoping it ends and we can relax in front of the TV. Bad attitude, you say? PPFFFFTTT. Nonsense. I’ve never wanted a cat. But if that’s what it takes to make her happy, so be it.

BUT, here are a couple things I will never take part in.

Thing one
Thing two
Thing three

Go ahead. Call me a bad daddy.