Take my breath away (seriously, take it)

It's really late and I'm on a bunch of caffeine because I still have to drive home after I finish here-if I were finished I wouldn't be here any more-so this may be slightly more disjoint than normal. Actually my brain isn't functioning well enough to write about anything that I was going to, so instead you get this.

Nothing like some blank space to make you realize just how inconsiderate some people can be at times whether they want to or not. It's like going to the grocery store and finding out that they only have one more box of captain crunch. The problem is not that there's only one more box, but rather that there's an old person on the other end of the aisle and they've spotted the same thing as you. Normally old people wouldn't go for captain crunch as it can be painful on the roof of your mouth, but more than that, it's known for destroying dentures-some people even use it in their rock polishers or to break diamonds. As you rush forward to beat this irrational old person to the last box of tasty deliciously painful captain crunch you are aware only too late that this old person is not without guile. They have thrown their cane directly at your crotch (I'm writing this from a guys perspective), which if you were unlucky enough to have one of my sisters or mother there watching they would proceed to laugh hysterically, rolling in the aisles as you writhed in pain and anguish with the most horrible five-minute-flu you've ever experienced, and that's not even taking into account the humiliation you feel from it being caused by a very old person you had assuming ignorantly moments before that you could easily handle. As you breath in deeply through your nose and out through your mouth with your knees to your chest, this wily/crafty old person leans over your face so you can see all the way up their large nostrils making out the small children trapped in the jungle of nose hairs that inhabit such a forbidden place. The bend over so slowly you think that you're going to pass out, you can hear the sickening click of their dentures as they mock your pain, the box of captain crunch held close to their body as if it were a small child they were protecting from a pack of wolves, which in other circumstances you very well may have been. I wonder if anyone has tried that approach to fighting off wildlife? If so, they probably haven't lived to tell about it; better not try it. They pick up their cane, making sure to give you one more good tap so as to guarantee you don't follow them, and then drag its filthy bottom across your nice white shirt. Now not only is your back covered with candy corn from the 1970's but you also have a hideous black streak across the front of your shirt. How are you going to try and shamelessly hit on the cashier that has no interest in guys that shop at this place? At this point you decide that your best option is to just leave as fast as you can as never mention it to anyone; also, you decide that a cup is required equipment for grocery shopping from now on, and hope they don't throw the cane at your face next time.

See, I tried to warn you with that large blank space, but no, you just had to keep reading. I'll bet you wish you had those last two minutes of your life back, don't you? Well too bad, I have now taken them and deposited them into the bank of you'll-never-get-it-back-from-me-even-if-it-were-the-US-constitution-and-you-were-the-president-which-you're-not. You don't come back from that. Worse than that, you're still reading, and even worser, worser is apparently a word-well there goes all my hopes of being slightly clever and making up another nonword that people sometimes use without thinking, irregardless of what the mastiff says. But the truly tragic part of all this is that I'm still writing.

My hands don't seem to want to give it up, but I do.