God hates walmart and I have proof:

When we went to Del Rio last month, I didn't pack bathing suits because I figured we'd be too busy to swim. Well, I was wrong, and the 2nd night we were at the walmart (I refuse to use a capital W in protest - take that walmart!!!) near the hotel buying suits for me and the girls. As it turned out, my aunt took the girls swimming and I never took my suit out of the bag.

Fast forward to this past Saturday, I finally got off my ass and took the suit (still in the bag) to my local walmart to return it. I walk in early Saturday, fresh off my stint at the post office and the employee from hell (full disclosure, she was the only employee there and they were busy, but still, I was polite and she was a bitch and I'm pretty sure she overcharged me). I go into customer service and there's no one in line - SCORE!!! I'm all happy and hand her the bag and receipt and she looks at the suit and says - (paraphrasing) "I can't take this, there's no tape in the crotch" So I tell her the tags are on it and it was sold to me like that, it hasn't come out of the bag...her reply (NOT paraphrasing) "People can take the tags off and put them back on." Seriously? Then she proceeds to tell me I should go back to the store in Del Rio where I bought it and return it there. Yes, she told me to take a 12-hour drive each way to return a $20 bathing suit. Needless to say I wasn't happy. I'd even venture to say I was pissed. It was a cheap, generic bathing suit; it's not the $20, it's the princial of the matter - I should have been able to return an obviously unused suit with no bullshit involved.

I'm not sure what the big deal is with those stickers. Seriously, do they honestly believe a good case of crabs will read the sticker and decide not to hop off? If it protects against VD shouldn't they be passing them out at bars? You know what that sticker does? Absolutey nothing. Oh, except maybe provide a job for the poor soul who has to stick it in the crotch of every swimsuit sold in America.

So, anyway, the proof that God hates walmart: Last night I'm putting Mollyy-Moo to bed and I keep stepping on something - I pick it up to throw away and guess what it is?!? It's an old, dirty crumpled up and stuck together "crotch tag". I have no idea how it could have possibly gotten into Molly's room and under her bed, but there you have it. I gently pulled it apart, pulled the hair and dirt off as best I could (I'm telling you, it looked like it had been there forever), and stuck that sucker to the inside of that bathing suit!!!! And today, I took that damn suit (still in the bag!) (with crotch control) to the walmart near my job and returned it - no questions asked.

Kiss my ass, walmart.