This has never happened to me before. Indeed, I never thought it would ever happen to me. I have run out of plastic bags.
I'm not talking about the plastic bags you buy to put your garbage in, although I'm out of those, too. I'm talking about the bags you get when you buy things. You know the ones I mean--you can't stop people from giving them to you. You practically have to threaten a shopkeep with bodily harm to prevent him from giving you a plastic bag with your purchase. They used to breed under my sink with an alacrity which, given my usual sex life, I frankly envied.
Well, I must have committed the ultimate act of sacrilege by breaking up my last breeding pair, because there are no more plastic bags under my sink. I'm kind of excited by this, because it means I've been successful in my enterprise to stop letting people give me plastic bags, but at the same time, I need something to put in my kitchen garbage can. If I take my garbage out to the communal garbage can without tying it up neatly in a plastic bag, there will be a nastygram from my super on the front door of our building. And although I'm fond of the nastygrams, because I really like my super, it's one of my missions in life to provoke as few of them as possible.
So now I'm in the unique position of probably needing to go to the A&P and...just...buy something. Maybe a couple of somethings, so I can install a new breeding pair of plastic bags under my sink. With maybe some mood lighting.
Why don't they address this issue when they hawk their "I Am Not a Plastic Bag" fashion statements? What are those fashionistas doing with all their garbage?
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