Why we don't buy things.

6 p.m. I get home after a hard day of wielding the red pen at work, and as Marvin Gardens and I eat dinner, I remember that I am completely out of conditioner, and that for two days I have been using leftover leave-in stuff purchased during the Cro-Magnon era. Which is fine except that I am allergic to it, and it makes me cry all day, leaving me looking as though I take proofreading errors very, very seriously.

I make the fatal mistake of saying to Marvin, "You wanna go with me to CVS?"

6:30 p.m. Marvin and I get in the car.

6:36 p.m. We pull in to the CVS located about half a mile from our front door. As we are turning in I say, "Oh, let's go to Walgreen's instead." "Too late," says Marvin, "We already committed to turning left here."

Turning left is a very important thing in LA. You do not take it lightly.

Nevertheless, I say, no no, I want to find conditioner that keeps the red in my hair, and they probably won't have it at CVS. After nearly barreling over a poor old lady, who I smile at apologetically while sensitive Marvin mutters, "Move it, Gramma," we peel out of CVS toward Walgreen's.

6:40 p.m. At Walgreen's, Marvin drives past 79 convenient, open spots to park in the most far-away place possible -- so that we require trail mix in order to make it from the car to the store -- then spends his usual 45 minutes removing his seat belt, looking at himself in the mirror, rolling up the windows, sketching out a rough map of the store and putting push pins in it to designate aisles he might peruse, or WHATEVER ON EARTH HE DOES WHEN HE TAKES SIX YEARS TO GET OUT OF THE CAR.

6:45 p.m. Finally in the store, Marvin does the thing where he pretends he is looking at stuff, but really he is following me to hurry me along. I have never bought hair conditioner that enhances red, so for me this is an important purchase. It was relaxing, therefore, to have someone standing seven inches behind me at all times, picking things up and making fun of them. "Can I interest you in some Scoopios, which are like Cheerios but only a dollar?" Marvin brightly queries, interrupting my reverie over the conditioners.

6:46 p.m. Intimidated by my "shadow," I grab a bottle of red conditioner and go to the line. Which has one cashier and 7,098,453 people. I hear a weak little voice calling, "There's a register open here!"

Remember that scene in the Bugs Bunny cartoon, where Bugs Bunny is at the theater and he turns on the "Intermission" sign? And all the people rush out in a clump to smoke? That's what it looked like when that poor woman said a register was open. It was as though she were dangling bacon at a pack of wild dogs. Once we got there, the woman realized the register didn't work. So she lead us all, like we were on a field trip, to another register. THAT register didn't work. This was about the time Marvin shouted, "THIS STORE SUCKS. LIKE IT ALWAYS DOES." I scurried out of there before anyone knew I was related to him.

6:59 p.m. We go back to CVS. I find the same conditioner. Marvin tells me how much more he likes this drug store, because it is carpeted. Which, really, is what you need in a drug store. I take my conditioner to the front where there is no one waiting, only an employee purchasing something. So I wait. And wait. And wait. And make eye contact with the cashier, who gives me a dirty look. It becomes evident to me that these two are scamming the store, as they keep trying to run something through the scanner with their employee cards. Finally, I turn into Marvin Gardens. "LET'S GO!" I yell, and toss my purchase on the tube socks.

7:01 p.m. I call the CVS to complain to the manager, who tells me I should have found him in the warehouse, that he would have taken care of things right away. What warehouse? I am supposed to magically know about a warehouse? At this point I am ready to drive to Tarzana and shave my head, like Britney. What conditioner could possibly be worth this?

7:20 p.m. Marvin and I drive to the ends of Burbank to go to some ridiculous, grimy drug store that no human has ever entered in the history of time. We get in there and Marvin says, "Dirty, Gramma" which is a thing I say because my friend Cindy says it and Marvin has NO IDEA why he is saying it. Believe it or not, I get the same ding-dang conditioner and FINALLY purchase it. Seriously, I had better be STUNNING tomorrow.

7:30 p.m. We get back in the car, and Marvin says, "That conditioner was cheaper at Walgreen's."

Funeral services are pending.