The Walk of Shame

I promised a friend that I would blog about this most red-faced moment of shame.

Here on the base we have little convenience stores called C-stores. They get very busy at lunch time with these guys:

After dropping my peanut butter off at pre-school, I was forced to stop at the C-Store for some of these:

My strategy was to get in and out fast. No eye contact, no chit chat. Grab the pads and go. So I stuck to the plan. I walked directly to the feminine hygiene aisle, quickly scanned the pads, looked around, and grabbed a box. I was dismayed to see how long the line was, but I what choice did I have?

I could smell the testosterone.

As I began to near the cashier, I heard a soft chuckle behind me, and another Marine whisper “wow!”.
This was not a wow like they thought I was so unusually beautiful it had temporarily stunned them. This was the wow you give an overweight girl in a belly shirt, or a car with the bumper sticker that reads “I like boobs”. This was not a good wow.

Thinking they were perhaps so immature that any feminine hygiene item embarrassed them, I adjusted my arms so that the pads were in front of me. And that’s when I saw that I was not holding pads…oh no, I was holding these:

Note that the box clearly reads: WIPES AWAY IRRITATING DISCHARGE

Two things happened simultaneously at this point. First, I realized that in my rush I had grabbed a box of anti-itch, anti-odor feminine wipes. Second, I realized that I was next in line to check out. The line had grown steadily longer behind me, so starting over wasn’t an option. I quickly told the cashier that I had grabbed the wrong item, and as 25 Marines watched, I ran to exchange the stank wipes for the correct pads.

As I paid I considered the appropriateness of turning around and explaining that I do not have an odor or itch problem.

In the end I opted for the downturned, red-faced walk of shame out of there.

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