Just trying to be regular can be difficult

If you are a reader of my column, you know that I have no problem sharing even the most embarrassing experiences. I suppose a regular person wouldn’t do that, but on this day, I was anything but “regular.” Allow me to share.

I walked in the door when I got home from work and dropped a grocery bag on the counter and my wife suspiciously questioned my strange purchases. Of course, I acted offended and sarcastically said something along the lines of “so sorry I tried to help out with the shopping.”

She was clearly perplexed as she looked over the items, but didn’t push it any further. Knowing she was miffed and confused, I decided that I might as well come clean. After all, it’s hardly the worst thing I’ve done in the two decades of our marriage and she is well aware that I’m a bit neurotic at times.

It all started the night before when I was talked into going out for Indian food, which I know I shouldn’t do as my delicate Irish constitution seems to have trouble digesting anything spicier than a baked potato.

So the next morning, to say I was in some degree of GI distress would be an understatement. But since I had a full day ahead, I had to persevere. So I stopped by the grocery store in the morning to pick up some Imodium. To my dread, it was quite busy. Since I live in a small town, I know almost everybody when I go to the grocery store.

So I did what any guy who clearly has issues would do. I burst into the store and hurriedly purchased chewing gum, SpaghettiOs, Captain Crunch, a pepperoni stick, peanut butter, raisins, shampoo, Funyons and Sporks. I chose these items because they were all in the same aisle. If I could have, I would have actually shopped for some products that I know we need and use — but I didn’t have that luxury as time was of the essence.

So I covertly covered the Imodium with the other items as camouflage when I placed them on that public conveyor belt at the checkout where everybody else in line can and will nosily inspect your purchases while they wait.

Perhaps I was afraid if I purchased just the Imodium, as it slowly slid along that checkout conveyor belt, like a glaring sign of what was going on internally, suddenly a grocery store spotlight was going to shine on me and the elderly cashier was going to blurt into the store microphone “What’s wrong fella? You got the diarrhea?”

Suffice to say, a chuckle and roll of the eyes from my patient wife, and I was off the hook for my impromptu shopping spree.

Now you can laugh at my irrational behavior, but I know there are lots of you out there who are just as weird as me when it comes to these type of social situations. So for my weirdo brethren out there, this was for you.

Tune in next time when I share why if I trip or stumble in a public area surrounded by strangers, I turn around, stare at the spot where I stumbled, sometimes even going back and pretending to kick away some invisible debris, making a big show of it, rather than just admit I’m clumsy and tripped over my own two feet.