This post is for you, dude. You, the gork wearing stone-washed jeans and a Lords of Acid t-shirt, struttin' around HEB looking to score. If you insist on using the super market to pull your mad moves of studdom, why not maintain some sense of normalcy and troll the produce or wine sections? Because most people, possessing even a modicum of social grace, would deem places of food and alcohol as slightly more appropriate grounds to engage complete strangers. Oh, but not you. You came down the feminine hygiene aisle with a wink and a swagger and a "Hey, ladies, how's it going?" like it was a fucking mardi gras celebration.
Hmmm. Do you see what we're shopping for here, Skippy? Because if you noticed the goddamn box of Tampax in my hands, then you'd realize that the answer to that question involves the words "my", "crotch", and "bleeding". Seriously, dude...what the hell is wrong with you? When a woman is shopping for tampons it automatically, indisputably means she has absolutely no interest in anything you have to say. Those tampons are Nature's way of saying "Stay away."
No, I take that back. It's Nature's way of saying "GET THE FUCK OUT!!!"