Blame Fira Flame for this one.
o o o
He had survived having his right hand shot off. He had survived the Midgar slums. He had survived being on Shinra's most wanted list.
They're on, I think, the second shelf. A green box.
He had survived Cid's driving. He had survived going up against Sephiroth. He had even lived through Yuffie's attempt at cooking. He could survive this.
Not the regular ones, look for the one's that say 'overnight'.
He could, he really could.
The one's with wings.
He'd make it out of here alive, sure, but then he was going to shoot himself.
Either himself, or the punk that was sweeping the floor and looking at him funny.
Couldn't there be just one company that made the things, instead of four or five? There must've been half a dozen packages that fit the description he was given. He almost cringed when a man reached around him to snag a box off the shelf, shooting him a sympathetic look. "Daughter?" The man asked.
He nodded. "Of all th' things I never though I'd be doin'..." He started.
The man laughed. "It gets easier over the years. Go for the Wutaian brand. From what I've been told, they're more comfortable." He said, dropping the box in his cart and walking off.
Glad for some sort of confirmation, he grabbed the box off the shelf and headed towards the checkout lane. Along the way, he gave the floor-sweeping punk a glare that would wither men with more steel in their spine than a pimple-faced teen. The boy immediately decided that there was a mess to clean up in produce and took off.
Satisfied, he went through the express lane, picking up a few chocolate bars as he went. That was the other thing on the list.
Oh, and some nice milk chocolate. It helps.
The woman behind the counter looked at his purchases, then gave him a knowing smile before ringing them up. He felt like shooting himself again. At least no one had cracked any jokes. The metal arm probably detered them. He paid and took his bag, relieved that the little adventure was over.
He loved his daughter, but Marlene could buy her own feminine products from now on.
o o o
Someone once told me that you're not really a father until you've either talked about the Playboy mags in your son's room, or bought feminine products for your daughter.
