I hate Wal-Mart.

Aside from hating everything it represents in the sense of suburbia boom – I hate being there.

It’s a cesspool of domestic hell. Crying babies, screaming (SCREAMING) brats hollering for toys or (god forbid) attention from their dazed parents wandering at a turtle’s pace stopping only to snap at their significant others or to yank whatever it is their child is screaming about out of their hands.

I will never want this.

I never want mini vans filled with car seats and plastic brightly colored “of the moment” toys.
I never want my thighs to widen while my pocketbook shrinks all to buy some mass marketed over priced THING that my child HAS TO HAVE.
I don’t want to worry about diapers or rashes or 10 day long fights with my husband over who bought $10 of something THAT WAS NOT BUDGETED FOR.
I don’t want to trade my sex life for teletubbies.

This is the ugly side of Martha Stewart’s Living. You don’t see her crying in the kitchen or masturbating with cucumbers because she’s undersexed and anxious.

This is the flip side of the cutesy Monica/Chandler wedding. We in TV land don’t get to see them in 10 years screaming at their child bringing home a hickey and a bad report card.

This fucking sucks.
It’s not for me. No way. I’m not signing up for it. I may be forced to grow up, but I will not succumb to this domestic hell.

I see a move to NYC in the not too distant future.

Or I pray for one at least.