'Britney Saves Murdered Cows'

Once upon a happier, more financially secure time, Rosie and Elisha frequented K-mart in Camberfield every thursday night, in search of dvd's, underpants and iced-up blonds in the latest Kappa fashion. This last was a rare and special find, often screaming obscenities in the cue, stuck between an elderly woman buying her winter tights and a family with seven screaming kids shoved into and around their trolly. Security would be called, a crowed would gather, we would giggle, clutching our briefs to our chests and store the moment for retelling during future silences at the pub. 

As I'd pumped an exuberant amount of this weeks meager earnings into my little purple car, I hadn't planned on a late night trip to K-mart. Also, it isn't thursday, and I am currently well stocked with knickers. However, while I spent the evening researching such mysteries as Mulholland Drive and avoiding the 'T' word, Rosie was discovering certain excesses in her own cash flow for the week. She called me. 

"I need hooks for my door," she said. "I'm going to K-mart."

"Okay." A pause.

"You gonna come with me?" 

And so I did. While I was there I discovered that I quite needed certain things, too. I needed some stationary, namely pens, staples and a notebook. I also discovered that I needed some chocolate and a certain t-shirt which, unfortunately, fell outside my means at this moment. I would have been happy with a photo of said t-shirt, but, alas, my camera was at home on the charger. The t-shirt (brilliant item, really. 'Cool' by K-mart, would be perfect marketing) was red and featured, in bold white writing across the breasts, the words 'SAVE BRITNEY.' Bah! I twittered over that one for a while. 

On the way home, we stopped at Hungry Jacks to murder a cow. It was delicious. (Maybe that was the 'Britney' the t-shirt was referring to?)