You know what I like about auto parts stores? No bags. You could have a box of brake pads, 4 quarts of oil, an oil filter, and 2 cokes and they will NOT offer you a bag. And, as a man, it is my responsibility to not ask for one, smile calmly, let out a “cheers, bro” or possibly a “have a good one” and use every ounce of kung-fu grip at my disposal to gather everything in my two macho hands and calmly glide out to my truck.
From the back, I am the epitome of restrained power and unnatural grace.
From the front, I am gritting my teeth in determination, seeping blood from my eyes, and inaudibly repeating, “just a few more feet, just a few more feet…”
And women think they have it hard.