Author's Note: Hey! Another short story from yours truly. I apologize for any spelling or grammatical errors in this story; I pretty much pumped it all out today in a couple of hours. Just a short little something for your enjoyment. Please review and tell me what you think!


On cold December nights, the last thing a 23-year-old woman like me wants to do is leave the comfort of her warm couch and the sultry tele-presence of her one true love, Johnny Depp. However, something was occurring inside of me that I had learned to recognize over the past ten or so years as something not to be ignored. I was bloated, tired, somewhat cranky, and stereotypically craving a massive feast of chocolate. Whatever could that mean?

In a somewhat begrudging manner, I kicked off the warm blankets covering my hideous feet and half hobbled, half slumped toward the tiny closet that my lease-holder called a bathroom. I ran my hand over the wall beside me and found the light switch before bracing myself for the inevitable shock and pain that would invade my eyesight as light flooded in. I flipped the switch and blinked stupidly for a good thirty seconds, after which I bent over and half-heartedly rummaged through the cabinet beneath my sink. Half-heartedly soon turned to desperately, however, as realization dawned on me. Son of a bitch, I was out of pads.

For a moment, I contemplated reverting back to my old college and high school ways and just grabbing a nice wad of toilet paper but I decided that if I ever wanted to achieve the ever-possible dream of becoming Mrs. Depp, I'd have to attempt to attain some level of class and maturity. But I was tired. I stood up and stared at the toilet paper staring invitingly at me, before muttering out very un-classy choice words and slamming the cabinet doors shut. Sometimes, I hate being a woman.

Before long and after cleansing myself of a few more 'choice words,' I had finished my complaining and was now riding in my 97' volkswagon toward the nearest portal of Hell...I mean, Wal-Mart. Oh, Wal-Mart...that which was the bane of my existence ever since my first year of college. It had started off as an okay trip, everything running along smoothly as I merrily pushed my cart of Independence up and down the aisles, singing tunes of college life and death to high school drama. I was excited and had anyone been paying attention to me, besides Creepy Beer Breath in the frozen TV dinner aisle, they'd probably have thought I was coming off of an acid trip. (It was only hookah, I swear.) Then, it happened. The clock struck 6:30 pm and the next thing I knew, I was crowded in by a few dozen screaming children, angry Hispanic mothers shouting random Spanish phrases that I understood clearly, even with having passed Spanish Honors with a D.There were, undoubtedly, about twenty or so men in wife beaters and flannel pajama bottoms and apparently, Creepy Beer Breath was apart of an entire race. At first, I was totally okay with it, if not the slightest bit oh, I don't know...terrified. I finished up my Independent shopping, having bought my Independent essentials and headed for a cashier which had, at 6:15, been totally empty. Now, however, it seemed that the DMV had set up shop there and in every other check-out. Needless to say, I officially despised Wal-Mart from that day on.

Having just moved into my new Really Independent apartment, however, I found out that Wal-Mart was the closest shopping center around and it being quite late at night (10:30 to be exact), I really had no desire to look for anywhere else. My laziness screwed me over. Oh well, what had to be done had to be done.

I pulled into the closest parking spot, which of course was a good 100 feet away from the actual building, and began my trek toward my doom. It was still horribly crowded by people who apparently had no lives or were, to ease my cynical conscious, quite possibly buying pads for themselves and loved ones. I sighed and grabbed a cart on the way in from a very pissed-off looking employee (who I assumed was perpetually that way) before realizing that I really only needed my pads and then kindly returned the cart to the employee (who was now more pissed off) and headed inside.

Then my phone rang. It was Rachel, of course, because she called me at exactly 10:35 every night so that I knew it would be her and answer the phone quickly instead of stopping to look at the caller id. Yeah.

"What it is, yo?" I inquired as I passed a very attractive young gangsta who was giving me the eye.

"Nada nada custada...what are you doing?" She replied in her usual way.

"I'm at the portal of Hell."

"Ah, for what?"


"Oh, I see. You live right under my floor, Brea, why didn't you just borrow some tampons from me?"

"Because," I answered casually as I passed and childishly snickered at the condom section, "I don't want to use your death traps."

"They're not death traps if you're careful with them." We always got into this conversation and for the life of me, I have no idea why she insists upon making me use her so-called tampons. They had never appealed to me and I had only ever tried them once which ended up being an incredibly awkward experience because I had no idea how to use them. All I knew and know is that they can kill people and I don't care how desperate I am- I will not shove anything lethal into an area that sensitive.

"I will not use your penis-pads, Miranda." I smiled at an old woman beside me who had been staring medicine bottles and was now inching further away.

"Whatev, Bev. Call me when you're done."

"Will do, Kalamazoo." I hung up the phone, ending our routine departure.

Without the distraction of the phone, it only took me about 1.2 seconds to find the aisle I needed and thus grabbed the cheapest bundle of pads I could find. Normally, I'm a little more attentive to my 'feminine products' but I had a man waiting for me at home (sort of) and I didn't want to keep him. However, as I was leaving the hygiene section, I realized, as most people somehow do when at any type of superstore because of the store's telepathic hold over its inhabitants, that I was missing something. Toothpaste. Truth be told, I was the tiniest bit sick of trying to squeeze out the remnants of Crest from my abused tube. It really was time to buy a new one. I did the same as I had done with the pads and was thankful to find that those really were all that I needed. Because I was tired and lazy, I felt no desire to 'hold' them and so I shoved them into my partially zipped-up jacket. With it only be partially-zipped, I hoped the employees, particularly Mr. P-ed O, wouldn't suspect me of stealing.

Whilst approaching a suprisingly sparse check out lane, it turns out that I had no such luck. The man (or boy, I should say) that stopped me was nice-looking, enough. Probably just a good worker that was trying to follow the rules. I gave him my best sheepish grin and he smiled back. Awww, he had dimples.


"Yes, sir?" I asked, innocently. My hands were behind my back and I made no move to remove the contents of my jacket.

"Ah, I know that you're okay but I don't want someone else to approach you and do something stupid, so I thought I'd intervene."

"Mmhmm," I kept smiling and standing.

"You look like you're stealing something." He stated, pointing at my jacket.

"You're only saying that because I'm black." I teased, wondering if my comment would make him defensive or embarrassed.

Surprisingly, his official cute-as-hell dimple-causing smile only widened. His eyes twinkled with humor. "No, I'm saying that because you're carrying toothpaste and a pack of pads in your jacket...and because you're black." I couldn't help it. Although I was trying to keep up the banter and appear witty and beguiling, his quick answer was not one I had expected. I laughed and soon after, so did he.

Look at that, Wal-Mart had redeemed itself. Still the portal the hell, but with one cute gatekeeper. I thought for moment. I was single and currently hurrying through a crowded store so as to make it back to a man who wasn't actually in my home and whom I was having a non-existant relationship with. I hadn't dated a real guy for probably about two years (graduating sex) and the last guy I had dated I wish hadn't existed. And now here I am, having caught the attention of a man-regardless of the reason- who's company, however short the duration, I was currently enjoying. Oooh, the possibilities...

I'm menstrual. Whatever I do or say for the next three days, I have the right to blame on hormones and lack of chocolate.

I put on my cutest smile and hoped that he would overlook or at least find amusement in the fact that I was wearing an oversized Buffy the Vampire Slayer tee-shirt and Poke'mon pajama bottoms. "Well, I really don't want to hold these because, you see, my arms are paralyzed from this terrible condition I have, called 'laziness.' However, if you're truly concerned about the possibility of me being taken in for questioning on account of having not-stolen-but-looked-like-I-had-stolen these items, would you be ever-so-kind as to walk with me to the cashier to ensure my innocence?" He didn't say anything for a moment and for a while, I was tempted to explain the way my brain works when my body is menstrual, but thankfully his (once-again) amazingly cute smile stopped me.

"I loved to, but only if I can furhter ensure your wellbeing by, perhaps, walking you to your car? It's pretty late and these security guards can get a bit snappish."

And so it was. We talked for a while, about little things, at first joking about the situation at hand and then delving into more personal information about ourselves. Once we reached my car, the pads and toothpaste removed from my jacket and into his arms, we were thoroughly acquainted with each other. Reluctantly, I pulled out my keys and opened up the trunk of my car which I had (thankfully) cleaned out just the day before. Like a true gentlemen, he placed the items in and then shut down the hood.

He made no move to leave and nor did I. Instead, we stood there, waiting for the other to make a move. "So," I began.

"So," He elaborated. There was an awkward silence for a moment. Not from not knowing what to say but I'd like to think it was from not necessarily wanting to leave at that moment. "My name's Jack." He offered up after a few seconds.

"Oh! Right! My name's Brehana but..ah...everyone calls me Breanna. It's a cooler name."

"Really? I like your name; it's different."

"It's weird."

"I still like it." Again, he smiled and again I laughed. I really didn't want to leave, but it was eleven o'clock at night and I had work. I gave a reluctant smile and motioned towards my car.

"I guess I should get going."


"I', good night."

"Yeah." I began toward the front seat and he stood there still, a somewhat thoughtful expression on his face. "I get off of work in twenty minutes."

I hid the creeping smile that inevitably worked its way to my face the moment he said the words. "Really? Well, I have work in seven hours..."
"It takes less than one to grab a coffee. Decaf." He added the last bit as I had begun to reply. I chuckled a little and nodded to myself.

"Where to?"

"There's a coffee bean right up the street. I'll show you where it is; you can follow me in your car."



"See you then."

He nodded and ran off back to his post, with me staring stupidly after him. After a few seconds I couldn't help but laugh at myself as something giddy inside me began to manifest. I started the car to put on the heater and radio and leaned back in my seat, closing my eyes. As began to buzz through the speakers, I couldn't help but laugh a little. Never in my life have I been so glad to be a woman.