I was in the grocery store today, taking a very leisurely tour of the aisles.

I say leisurely because I was trapped behind a pair of very old, geriatric pre-fossils. The woman would like to stop at the end of each aisle and peer longingly down each one. You know? Rather than just reading the signs that have hung above the aisles, since the dawn of time?

I want to pull my hair out. Or pull her hair off. Her husband is doing his best and he is a trooper. He is focused. He is in the ZONE! He has that cart zeroed in on the far end of the store and is making his glacial way in that direction. He is a man on a mission. He will not be deterred by meaningless and time consuming side trips down aisles, so even though snails fly past him and he screams "THIS IS A NEIGHBORHOOD!" at them, he continues limping north.

His wife would stop him every few feet to tell him she was going down an aisle. He'd say "Make it quick." And carry on. He was so slow that he would just clear the end cap when his wife would return.

He was my kind of guy. In-and-out and get back home. Unfortunately he was the slow one and he was going as fast as his two hundred year old legs would carry him. He limped on one leg and favored the other.

When I finally made my move to pass the sluggish duo, I was met by what could only be a store full of Australian and British ex-pats.

Am I the only one with a driver's license? Am I the only one who drives on the right? More suppressed hair-pulling and fantasies of poking people with dull, possibly rusty, poking devices that give you tetanus just by looking directly at them.

Finally I was free. I had my four items that I came for and hopefully one of them was the toilet paper which was my sole reason for *really* coming to the store. I'm not looking down now because I can see my goal. The self-checkout. Naturally the shortest line is also the one filled with shoppers for whom negotiating US currency appears to be a novelty. They have also only just now realized they are in both the express lane and the self-checkout lane.

Panic has set in. They have already unloaded their cart but now have no idea were to go.

It's Sunday *and* Mother's Day so I was trying to keep the blasphemy to a minimum. I haven't shouted obscenities at anyone yet so I figured I was ahead of the game here. I'm doing great but still wishing for my rusty poker to poke people with.

There is nothing like patience in situations like this so I took a deep breath and wondered what patience would feel like. I tried to picture patience. What do patient people look like when they have ADD?  Do they look like me?  Do they feel like this? Do they feel stabby?

I could give lessons on how to feel stabby. How to Be Stabby 101. A beginner's course in stabbiness and the stabification of others. $200