Oxy-cute it!

I hate to throw Martin under the bus, but he’s one of the worst grocery shoppers in the world. And he’s the first to admit it.
“I’m the worst grocery shopper in the world,” he says. “I shouldn’t set foot in a food store.”
Seriously, Martin should just fling dollar bills out the car window since he spends a wad of cash and comes home with nothing edible.
So it shouldn’t have been a surprise when he appeared the other day with enough plastic bags to choke a seagull, but no essentials. No meat, no vegetables, no fruit, I think, slamming a stack of mac n’ cheese boxes on the counter. 
“And WHAT is this?” I say, brandishing a container of Oxy Wash acne cleanser in his face.
What?” Martin says, equally annoyed. “You said to buy Oxy Wash!”
“Not the pads! What the hell am I supposed to do with pads?!
How should I know?” he yells. “Why am I buying Oxy Wash for a horse?”
And that’s when I freeze. And think about how ridiculous we sound. Martin doesn’t know what I’m thinking. He doesn’t realized that Chance gets this funny, fungus-grunge on his face, and that my friend Jenn recommended using Oxy Wash as a cheap remedy to clear up his condition.
The scrub, however, not the pads.
I consider keeping the acne-fighting pads.  I hate returning things to the grocery store, especially to our economically strapped local market. But it’ll be 2020 before anyone in our house has to cope with spotty skin.

Just inside the grocery store, there’s a weary, apron-clad woman who mans the customer service desk and sells cartons of cigarettes. She looks skeptical when I brandish the Oxy Cleansing Wash — and downright suspicious when I say, “don’t worry, it hasn’t been opened.” She holds up the container, scrutinizing the seal, then plunks it down with a sigh.  I can feel the guy behind me peering over my shoulder to get a closer look.

“It’s for my horse,” I explain matter-of-factly, for both to hear. “He can’t use the pads, just the scrub.”