Don't Even Ask

The SJG learns so much in my travels.  Yesterday's lesson, courtesy of Kelly, regards bachelorette parties.  Kelly is co-hosting a big bash tonight and needed supplies.  "Will you come with me?" she asked.  "Sure," I said, not knowing what I was getting into. Thirty-one years ago, my girlfriends lavished me with some questionable gifts, pre-matrimony.  I thought I was prepared for this outing.  I thought I could handle it.  But those silly gifts I received look tame and innocent compared to what's available today.  The minute we walked into the brightly-lit store and heard the loud disco music pumping, I started to giggle and blush and count the minutes till we could leave.  "Oh my God, oh my God," was all I could say.  That, and, "Get me out of here."  Not Kelly.  She was a gal on a mission.  She walked right up to the tattooed lady behind the counter and asked for the such-and-such straws.  "Over there," the lady said.  While I gawked at the wide variety of X-rated products, Kelly calculated how many packages of straws to buy.  "It would be terrible to run out," I said.  My only contribution.  She threw another package in the pile, along with a wedding veil covered in don't-even-ask, some you've-got-to-be-kidding-me balloons, and other items I'm far too classy to mention.  "That was hard for you," she said, as we left the store.  "I thought we were going to Rite-Aid," I said.