My latest exercise in futility as I race ever onward toward my inevitable death

was to go on a shopping excursion, aka “fuck this shit” in search of a pair of normal knee-highs.

What used to be a minor, semi-annual test of endurance has become something of an Herculean exercise in futilty over the past several years, due to clothing stores inexplicably catering to all the wanna-be “Lolitas.”

Okay, Japan? I’m as sexually repressed a Catholic as the next guy, but it’s not like I’m looking to screw some old pedophile with an Asian schoolgirl fetish. I simply want something comfortable to wear with my Goodwill “Half-Off Tuesday” sandals. (Yeah. Socks with sandals. Now everyone watching at home can feel so much better about themselves in comparison to me, and move the hell on.)

After exhausting the usual trailer trash staples like Kmart, Walmart, and Target (God, I miss Caldor), I swallowed hard, sold my eternal soul to Satan, and rode out to Rockvale Outlets. “Lancaster’s premier shopping experience!” Or so the literature in the rack outside the bathroom claimed, and after all, why would it lie?

Because of my inherently trusting nature and endearingly precious naivete, I  assumed that outet shopping meant bargains, bargains, and oh my goodness, more bargains(!), instead of being code for “same over-priced, shoddily-made shit, priced exactly the same as at the mall without having to bother ourselves with atmosphere.”

But okay. My foul. And after rifling my way through not one. Not two. But three,  yes, three sock stores (which is the height of irony, considering that everyone around this sphincter of a town is too bumpkin to even wear shoes,  let alone sock unless there’s a preacher present either marrying or burying someone. (It’s a fine line.)

Bare feet, much like bare gonads, are mean to be hidden away in the deepest, darkest recesses of the depraved human psyche, only to see the light of day during spring break, or a trip to the emergency room. And even then, they give you those little booties. Which would probably not look too bad with my sandals, now that I think about it. And they were free, which is always a plus (fifteen-thousand dollar hospital bill notwithstanding).

Next stop. The scotch tape store!

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