Zen and the art of knicknack avoidance

I've got nothing against stoners. In fact, given the proper context, I think they might be on to something . But thank God I wasn't high when I was stumbling around Target this morning. Any sense of alacrity goes straight down the tubes after a....ummm...."mindset" change. I get distracted easily. (My mom reads this blog, so I'll be discrete. You know what? This post is going straight to hell. I can already feel it. Ma, quit reading.)
So there I was, on a mission. All I needed to do was return a telephone and pick up some TP. Basic stuff, in and out. About a week ago, I bought an extra phone just in case our Comcast service problems were actually caused by a dead handset. When they replaced the modem and the dial tone returned, I knew I didn't need the extra electronics. That meant I'd have to return to The Store of Very Many Aisles, as it's known in the third world, in order to get my money back. I don't need to explain why I needed more TP.
I was making my way back towards the paper towels, napkins, and TP when I passed by the condom shelf and thought,
"Goodness! Look at that selection! Colors, styles....MAGNUM! I should check that out!"

Now without getting into any uncomfortable details, I'm in a safe, monogamous relationship, and I'm not really in the condom market right now. Then, a voice in my head, apparently one that had come under the influence of marajuana and was enthralled with the prospect of seeing its first magnum, said,
"But you could try to make those balloon animals, if nothing else....Come on. PLEEEEEASE."

I continued on, grabbed only the TP, and headed to the front of the store for checkout and my exchange. Target has shelves upon shelves of stuff you don't need, but if you let your guard down for even a second, you'll get suckered. On the way to the register, I passed by the clothing section. A woman was holding up three different colors of turtle neck sweaters, wondering to herself which one might look best with her skin tone. I guarantee she didn't wake up today and write a to-do list that included "Buy Turtlenecks". You gotta be careful in there, my friends.

This power to avoid the unnecessary doesn't seem to run in the blood of all of us. Take the turtleneck woman, for example. At the check out line, I saw her again. With all three colors. And when I was back in Kentucky on my most recent climbing trip, I saw one of the most egregious examples of when a man should just say no.

The Kroger grocery store in Stanton, KY is home to all imaginable stereotypes of the rural south. Speech is slow, friendly, and slurred. Physical education has long been forgotten at Powell County High School, home of the Fighting, albeit lethargic, Pirates. Tobacco is king, high fructose corn syrup is just corn, and America elected a Negro. "Sweet Jesus, Gawd Almighty!"

In the check out line, I saw a man and his progeny. I'm willing to bet that they were father and son given their genetic similarities (each with a swinging gut, rat tail, etc.) and matching overalls. The son looked to be about 13, and had in his hand a bottle of beer weighing in at exactly 40 ounces. He held it behind his back until his father was loading up the conveyor belt with fixuns. Sheepishly, the boy placed it in line with the rest of the food.
"Ah nah. I ain't gonna buy you that."
"Come on paw." He looked sheepishly at his bare feet. "Please."
"Oh all right."

If I find myself back in Target, tantalized at the prospect of latex, I might just cater to that begging voice. I could always give them away to strangers who I deem unfit to parent. I would have given them away to the man in the check out line, but it seems to me that after 13 years, the damage is done.