Let me take a poll. How many of you understand EXACTLY what I mean by the title of this post? How many of you know exactly what I’m saying? I can bet you any amount of money that the results of that poll would rest squarely along gender lines.

In other words, the sistahs know what I’m talking about.

Yesterday, upon leaving work, several of us were walking toward the parking lot and discussing the upcoming evening. The single people and the ones without kids were headed to the gym or to Happy Hour. The rest of us were complaining: homework, kids’ behavior, what to cook, American Idol. Yep. Just doing the usual happy dance. And I said, “Ugh. I have to stop at Walmart but I’m wearing the wrong shoes.” And the sistahs said, “Oh, yeah. I hate that.”

The men in the group stopped. And stared. They looked at me like I was wearing a hat o’ turds. [ (c) Jeff Kay.] When one of them regained consciousness, he asked, “you have Walmart shoes?” The other men nodded, scratched themselves, and chuckled in agreement. The women, a collectively more intelligent lot, continued with the conversation without missing a beat. “Wait,” one of the guys said, “you have shoes specifically for Walmart? Do you have a Walmart outfit as well?”

Well of course not, moron. It’s not a fashion thing. This has nothing to do with impressing Mr. Willie the Greeter when I arrive. This has everything to do with the fact that the shoes I’m wearing will not bear up while I push the cart all over the 10-acre store looking for items to create the perfect Civil War battlefield and will, instead, reduce my poor feet to throbbing blisters before I’ve even figured out how to turn green plastic army men into Union and Confederate soldiers.

What part of that do you not understand?

The sistahs are nodding in agreement.

The guys are still in the parking lot, shaking their heads.

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