I keep wondering why I leave my house. Venturing out in to the village leads to rapid depression. Today I wanted some milk. It is 6:05 PM, on a Sunday. Ugh. That means that only cousin-loving locals are wandering around listening to hillbilly-esqe tunes blaring out of a 12 million dollar marshmallow. You would have thought one bike rack could have been installed for that amount of money, but I guess that would have blown the budget.

Meanwhile, back to the milk. Since stores only care about SUV driving breeders, the only affordable milk in walking distance had already closed. Why do stores here close so early? Because the breeders are home preparing their breeder results for another day where they can be “the smartest and best student at the school.” In this day and age, all breeder results seem to be the best. No child left behind, so all children can read three letters, but not complex things, such as the word STOP (such as when it is written in white on a red sign).

Since I don’t feel like loading up my SUV with “special ones” I think about biking over to a big store. That would be fine, except for the fact that this village never bothers to put in any bike lanes, and since locals can’t even read a STOP sign it is rather dangerous on the road. They seem to think a biker is just like a raccoon; road kill if they can hit it first.

I’m now down to my final option. The cig stores. Locals love cigs. Cheapest cigs in the country. Breeders love cigs. Breeders love giving cigs to kids. The only person in the store at this late hour (remember, it is just after 6pm) is the person behind the counter. She is smoking a stick. Mmm….cigs. Smoke. Cancer. Gotta love them cigs. In any other part of the country that is civilized I’m sure that smoking in a 7-11 is illegal, but not here. Virginia is for cigarette lovers (an old Virginia saying).

I migrate to the milk area and get a half galloon of skim. At most other places this would run around $2.25. There is no price indicator anywhere in the area, but since I need it, I choose to buy it. $4.89 + tax.

Price for milk: a few bucks. One minute in the store with someone from Charlottesville: life reducing. Nothing priceless in that story.

I really have to learn to never leave my house or my office. Stop looking at the village. By not looking around at all this week I hope I’ll get cheery enough to post some photos.