Whole Foodsapalooza (and H. Totheomo Getting Stuck in Ann Taylor)

I am now eating olives and am considering raiding the Fresco Asiago cheese I bought earlier tonight.  [Me: I gave in.] Being unemployed does have its advantages, you know, in that one can begin a movie at 3:30 a.m. and doesn’t have to stir before, say, 2:30 p.m. However, let’s be sure to reconnect the next time you get paid, and I might a different point-of-view.

My night started like almost no other night: I trimmed my beard and took a shower. I thought about what to wear and didn’t just throw on a hat to “forage” for supplies: food, cigarettes and beer. No, tonight I Had Plans.

Our local Whole Foods, on Fridays, has a store walk-around. It includes five food and wine stations. I went with a dear friend and, hopefully soon, neighbor. Her male partner works there as does a very good friend of mine.

First, we ran into my good friend, Angel; that was around the salad course, one of the first. By the time my companion and I reached the Chicken Marsala, I wanted to take the pan and run off into the night, the shroomy flavor making the misdeed worthwhile. Instead, luckily, my sad look of hunger got me a second helping, but I digress.

After five courses of mainly wine, friend and I scurried over to Ann Taylor, where she does shop and I would shop had I a uterus. My friend is petite, and I found a very cute outfit and also her confidence that, although it looks like I use multiple beard trimmers, I can pick out an outfit.

While said friend was trying on the things I picked out for her, I needed to use the boy’s room. The loo. The water closet.

Somehow, when I was in the men’s room of Ann Taylor, at least 10 layers of foam core fell and became stuck under the outside handle of the men’s. First, foam core is not to be scoffed at. Second, I didn’t know if this was the next promotion or the latest or the last. I didn’t want to mar the heads of women just because they happened to lean against the men’s room, essentially locking me in.

I started to give one of those plaintive yells that are almost swallowed: good projection yet low volume. Apparently, the cash wrap was a little far for that. So I called (on her mobile) my companion, who, frankly, should’ve bought the skirt, too. No answer.

I eventually powered my way through the foam core (and the models’ heads) but, in this Facebook culture, not before I took a photo of my circumstances.

Everyone gets stuck, literally or metaphorically. What matters is how we deal with the foam core.