Exhibit C

My hubby hates "Wally World." Hates it. Mainly because every time we go there we meet people who would, oh, I don't know, "make the cut" for the World's Most Obnoxious People. At all costs, when I am with him, we avoid the Super Store. The other day, for some strange reason, the stars had aligned just right and I found myself standing in line at, you guessed it--Wal-Mart. As I was unloading my "goods" on to the conveyor belt, I noticed someone whistling behind me. OK, let's get something clear: this was not just your typical cute, old man humming a tune. This was a full-blown, legitimate whistle by someone who obviously wanted to be acknowledged for his whistling "skills." I am not kidding. It was loud! So loud, that when Jason called me while I was standing it line, he could hear the noise and even asked, "What is that?" Being naturally curious (and let's face it, annoyed), I non-chalantly stole a glance at the culprit who by this time was whistling the full score to Beethoven's Fur Elise. Again, I am not kidding.

The "whistler" was even better than I imagined. Let me paint you a picture: Black denim jeans, white tennis shoes, white, long-sleeved, collared shirt, black leather vest, black leather gloves and sunglasses (not on his forehead...he was wearing them). Mind you, it was at least 95 degrees outside. He then proceeded to ask me, "'Scuse me, miss? Are those scrubs you're wearing?" to which I replied, "Why, yes they are" (I fought my urge to be a smart mouth and claim that they were my pajamas I had forgotten to change out of). We then had a very strange conversation about how his wife is a nurse and she collects fairies??? I packed up my cart, said goodbye to said Black Leather Whistle Man, and booked it to my car. As I was driving away, who should I pass smoking his cigarette with gloved hands? My friend, the Whistler. At least we know his hands were warm...in August. Strange. Very strange. Hmmm...Until next time ;)