I was in Wal-Mart the other day. I know it’s very fashionable to denigrate the superstore these days, but where else can you go if you need duct tape, milk, shampoo and some CD’s. 

That’s the great thing about Wal-Mart. No matter what you need it’s probably there. Except shopping baskets. No, not the large, rolling carts or buggies. I’m talking about the small hand-held baskets. Men love these. If there are no baskets, then what’s a man to do? Well, they can carry everything they need in their arms. Four gallons of milk? No problem, I got it. Sixteen boxes of Christmas lights. Don’t worry, I can get it. 

Men, generally, want to get in and get out (hey, get your mind out of the gutter --ed.) They don’t want to attempt to navigate box stores full of humanity with a shiny metal cart down narrow zombie-filled aisles. 

You never see women speeding through the aisles with a basket or their arms full of “stuff”. Women have a buggy with their purse in the seat and a pack of gum in the cart lolling down the center of the aisle while men are scampering around them with their arms full of must-haves. Women never seem to hurry in Wal-Mart. I think that the store broadcasts a signal that calms, sedates and soothes. It must only effect the fairer sex. 

Perhaps their skulls are, well, thinner. When women call us dense, I think they’re right. But at least our density blocks the signals from Wal-Mart which turns them into Zombies.

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