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Recently, I went to Walmart.

Whenever I shop at Walmart,  I always make sure to stand at the check-out with the longest line-up.  That way I can listen to people’s conversations while catching up on my favorite magazines. Other than my lifetime subscriptions to Reader’s Digest and Enormous Clitoris Monthly, I haven’t paid for a magazine in years.  .

Just as I was trying to figure out whose cellulite-laden ass was plastered on the cover of the National Enquirer that week (Uma Thurman), the gentleman  behind me tapped me on the shoulder.

“Excuse me,” he said, “But I think you dropped something.”

Normally I wouldn’t fall for such a cheesy line. But because he was so attractive I decided to play along.

“Thanks for letting me know,” I said. I made sure to use my raspy voice, the one that makes me sound like I just finished smoking two packs of unfiltered cigarettes.  Trust me when I say it’s sexy.

After undoing the top three buttons of my shirt, I bent over and pretended to pick up an imaginary object. I told him I had been looking for this forever.

“Actually, I meant that.” He pointed to my lucky rabbit’s foot.  

Because I am very superstitious, I carry a rabbit’s foot wherever I go. I am also a die-hard animal lover. I don’t believe that a rabbit should have to suffer just for his foot. That’s why I have the rest of it propped up on my dining room table as a centerpiece. I find it really gets the conversation flowing when I have guests over.

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I asked the man how I could ever thank him. I fluttered my eyelashes and unbuttoned my shirt even more.

“Wait…don’t I know you from somewhere?” This time there was no mistaking the passion in his voice.

“I think you do,” I said. By now my voice was so raspy it was bordering on Bobcat Goldthwait. “You’re donkey punch guy, am I right?”

Turns out he wasn’t donkey punch guy. He was the son of my mothers’ pastor. I told him I had to make a call. Then I turned around and pretended to talk into my cell phone.

The cashier rang in my purchases– An economy size bottle of Mane ‘n Tail Shampoo (Tori Spelling swears by it),  a tensor bandage (more user- friendly than Spanx) and a bumper sticker that read, “Canadians Do it In The Buck Loonie.”

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LOL! (But seriously we do.)

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The total came to thirteen dollars and sixty-four cents. I was a dollar fifty short. I looked up and noticed the cashier’s name tag.

“Jose, you are from Mexico, right?” He nodded. “Well then, how about if instead of giving you money I let you stick your tongue down my throat?” I know for a fact that this is what Mexicans like to do to foreign women. (That’s why I go there so often.)

He didn’t answer me so I tried again in Spanish. “Tu y yo, el sexo.” I pointed to him and then did a groin chop. He said that he spoke English and he wasn’t allowed to have sex with customers while working.

“Well, can we barter at least?” He shook his head no.  

I was about to make a run for it when the pastor’s son tapped me on the shoulder. “Here, take this.” He handed me a twenty. I thanked him and said I would pay it forward. I made sure to bend over so he could get one last peek of the goods. Then I took my change and left.

As I was walking up to my house, I saw the daughter of my hippie neighbors sitting on their organically-grown grass. She looked upset. When I asked her what was wrong, she told me she lost her cat.

“Can you help me find it?” she asked.

Suddenly I realized that this was my opportunity to pay it forward. “Actually, I’m really busy right now,” I said. “But I can give you this.” I reached into my purse and pulled out the lucky rabbit’s foot.

She took it and looked at it carefully. I could feel my heart swell. Gluten-free tears welled up in her eyes. She said it looked just like her kitten’s paw.

Before she could say anything else, I put my finger to her lips and told her to hush.

Knowing I had given her hope was thanks enough for me.