Wallet Rash

So I bought my first box of diapers today. Allow me to set the scene.

It was a warm Wednesday. Actually, it was pretty dang hot. So much for the amazing alliteration. The sun beat down on the asphalt as I approached the finest diaper retailing establishment in all of Orange County - Wal-Mart. As I walked, I unrolled the parchment given to me by my wife containing the list of our shopping necessities, stumbling as the other end hit my feet and rolled along ahead of me. I bent down and scooped it up in my arms, as portions of it cascaded over my arms like waterfalls. I peered over the top of the papery mound, found a shopping cart, and threw it in.

I looked at the first item on the list - milk, and went to the food aisles. Two aisles and just as many minutes later, I had already found 75% of what was on the list, and I wondered to myself how much time I've wasted in my life walking through endless aisles in other supermarkets, when Wal-Mart has everything I could possibly need condensed down to a handful of conveniently placed aisles. Where else can you find hot dogs, cheese, cheerios, butter, yogurt, turkey, and milk all within five feet of each other? Nowhere! I'd have to traverse half a mile through twenty different aisles to find all of those items in a normal supermarket. But I also get lost easily, so you might have an easier time of it.

Fortunately, I knew exactly where the baby section was at Wal-Mart, so after surreptitiously ditching the list ("clean-up in aisles six, seven, and eight!"), I sped over to the far end of the store. I say sped, because people in Wal-Mart drive their carts like chickens with their heads cut off. So I Mosey my way through the store as if the other shoppers are the Red Sea, parting dawdling geriatrics ("I spilled my pills!") and hesitant Asian onlookers ("That not very rice!") all the same, while moving faster than either the former or the latter drive their automobiles. I am a non-discriminatory cart driver. I will mow down anyone in my way, regardless of race, gender, weight, handicap, lack of acceptable velocity, personal scent, or inability to be aware of one's surroundings.

I arrived at the baby section, fanning my face as the clouds of burning tile dispersed. I found the shelves of diapers, and peered at the price tags. Now, I've heard what people say about how expensive diapers are, what with the diamond studded eyes of Grover and the gold lined feathers of Big Bird. But I had never physically stood in a diaper aisle and basked in its depressing reality. I nearly had a Fred Sanford heart attack! $19 for 84 diapers? I'm comin', Elizabeth!

I wondered to myself how much that costs per diaper, so I did the mental math, and came up with the answer on the spot: it's freaking expensive! Then I came home and did the actual math on a calculator: nearly 23 cents a diaper! You've heard of the expression being eaten out of house and home? Well, our daughter (aka the Diaper Defiler) could quite possibly cause us to be the first people able to claim the honor of being peed and pooped out of house and home.

Of course, knowing her, 23 cents a diaper is a small price to pay for...security.