She just stocked her cart with supplies that could read like an abridged, but slightly embarrassing autobiography: tampons, chocolate, Metamucil, dandruff shampoo, and some KY warming lubricant. You come creeping up, eyeing her cart for an easy conversation starter. You know, something to bond over. You come up with: “I get dandruff sometimes, too.” She gives you a startled look, abandons her cart, and sprints out of the Duane Reade. Good job, weirdo. Maybe next time you’ll keep some things sacred.
At the Pharmacy