So, I was shopping at the Ralphs on 3rd Street earlier this week, the first time I'd stepped foot in a supermarket since the strike began (because I, as a member in good standing of the Screen Actors Guild, have been honoring my union brothers and sisters). I observed firsthand the dearth of certain consumable goods: no Quilted Northern bathroom tissue, no Viva paper towels, no Diet Vanilla Pepsi. See, I was holding several coupons for such items, including the one that sliced a dollar (which I was eager to have them double) from the price of any KY product. I sauntered with nonchalance up the personal items aisle, ready to surreptitiously snatch a tube from the shelf and slip it into my cart and, much to my surprise and dismay, THE SHELVES WERE COMPLETELY BARE OF PERSONAL LUBRICANTS.
I wondered if it was it a sign that I, um, shouldn't indulge. Or that it's on my partner to procure said lubricant.
Or maybe it's just the fact that times are hard and there are many more people than I'd realized taking it up the ass.
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