Damn, Job Lot… that time I bought twenty pairs of my favorite panties because you were selling them for $4.99 instead of a dollar more at Target, but you didn’t have my size, so I got a 5 instead of a 7, and after I washed them they were so small they went right up my crack and not even the Goodwill would take them? So hot.

You have me in a sweat, girl… and it’s not just because I ate those peanut-free cookies made with peanut butter and then took the expired allergy pills that you discounted twice, once because of that class-action lawsuit and once because they look like they’ve been tampered with. Damn, I can’t breathe just thinking about it.

I want you to unzip that undersized bag of dried sweet potato jerky and peel it apart… use your teeth baby. Too stale? Use those janky scissors in aisle 3. I think I saw hedge clippers on your end cap, baby. Use those if you have to… slowly now. I don’t care if it smells like dog food. It wasn’t in your dog treat section, so I’m sure it’s all good.

You’re so freaky girl, today you make me blush all over. I’ll never forget it because my doctor says the discoloration and imminent risk of deep-vein thrombosis may never go away. That stuff we did in the combined make-up, rat poison and Soviet-era MREs recently unearthed in Azerbaijan aisle? It’s got to be illegal in most of the world.

I like it when you watch me. All I had to do was provide my fingerprints, deed to my house, and medical power of attorney and you gave me a Loyalty Card—so I know you like to watch me too. That’s how you knew to text me to buy that discontinued blood-pressure cuff/tourniquet with the faulty on/off switch. Also, I didn’t know a credit score could be a negative number. You’ve taught me so much.

Hey. Just thinking about you, girl. I’m in the bathroom. Alone. Except for the cheddar cheese toilet paper I got from you yesterday. You know I licked it, baby… yeah, that’s right, a whole roll. Because the packaging was in Proto-Indonesian, even Google Translate didn’t understand, and they were shelved next to the fruit rollups. I’m just finishing up the rest of the four-pack now. I’ll be back for more, baby, even if I have to wear my Choco-Depends.

All my friends, family, and local EMTs I’ve become friendly with say you’re no good for me, baby. Even my vet told me to stay away after my cat was deliberately attacked by the oddly oversized “Boomba” robotic vacuum I got from you. I like its deep threatening voice and incessant commentary about the Illuminati. Different strokes, baby, different strokes.

Remember our dirty little game where I assembled your E-Z Trebuchet Hood Mount Bike Rack? Those connectors were well lubricated, baby. That thing just slid together. It slid apart too, on Interstate 80 when I was merging in front of a tractor-trailer. You and I, we’re solid. We don’t need bolts to keep us together. You up? I’m coming over right now, in 43 minutes when the bus gets to my stop. We don’t need cars and bicycles when we have each other.

Mmm, Job Lot, you’re too much for me… but you know I’ll be back, on every other Monday from 6:00-7:00 AM when you discount refurbished sandwiches for customers older than 60. I know all I gotta do is ask for one, provide three forms of ID, and you will slip that tinned pimento-loaf and toothpaste loofa panini into my open bag.