Ouch . . . Not what I expected!

A lot of you know by now that I try to keep my eyes peering for anything that may strike my fancy for a blog. I think people who observe things or people around them find inspiration almost anywhere.

I had to make a late-night run to the 24 hour Fred Meyer store down the street from my house the other night - and it was not the fun kind. You know what I mean, when you were younger and stayed out late at night making that pit stop between parties when you grab Doritos, eye drops, Red Bull and aspirin and you're off to the next hot spot especially here in Alaska where there is the always constant daylight in the summertime.

This sortie from home was after eating more fajitas than I should have which was not to say there wasn't a sense of urgency involved in this trip. So I hurry into the store, run to the aisle marked "stomach" (although let's face it, it wasn't really my stomach I was worried about) and stop in sheer awe of the selections available to me.

It's amazing our G.I. systems work at all. From the aisle entry to exit, it seems that there's a potion or pill for every step of the way. Still, the section that stopped me dead in my tracks though was neither a pill nor a potion (at least not one you swallow) . . .

it was the enemas.

There were rows of them. Not being a connoisseur, I was awed by the sheer variations on a theme. You have to pity the poor guy or gal who has to come and choose . . . it must be like when your parents or grandmother sent you to your room to decide your own punishment . . . or to the woods to pick your own switch before you got it but good. That was my childhood but not much “love and direction” are given to the kids today for fear of children service’s knocking on your door . . . but that is another story.

Then I saw the most depressing option: the multi-pack.

I'm sure there may be a condition that requires more than one enema, but it has got to be a rare, brave soul who is willing to admit upfront that one won't do the job.

I suppose you could use the second enema as a warning. I'll explain . . .

Say it was a fondness for cheese that got you into this predicament of needing an enema in the first place. You take the second enema and place it in your dairy drawer in the fridge and you'll always be reminded to take it easy on the dairy next time. It’s kind of like that “cow” paper holder on the door that moos every time you open the refrigerator door.

Come to think of it, an enema bottle would probably keep everyone else away from your dairy selections as well.

Sadly, it gets worse: they even make a 3-pack of enemas. Unless you're throwing a party, I sincerely hope there’s a prayer to recite and a stick to bite on in the box as well. And seriously, whatever it was . . . stop eating it.

Thankful for a moment that my problem would not require one nor the three pack of self-violations, I got the medicine I came for and turned around heading for the cashier.

On the aisle opposite and across from the stomach treatments were the adult diapers (which may be fitting) and one other item that seemed, well, out of place: facial tissue.

Now, aside from the people who realize that yes, they're going to need that three-pack, it's not your face that needs a lot of tissue when you're in the "stomach" aisle. But no, in some cruel game, they put the toilet paper on the other side of the store . . .

and also in the back farthest location.

This decision to place anti-nausea, anti-diarrhea and adult diapers at the rear of the store (pun intended) seems to be poor planning. Personally, you'd think having all the stomach-related items near the front of the store would be in everyone's best interest giving those in need a quick trip in and a fast getaway.

That’s my thoughts anyway, what about yours?

Ice