Succubus is today's Pie Flavor

I am in the auto paraphernalia surplus store not because I want to be, but because my dash light emergency alarm tell me I have to . Could be worse, I could be walking home, lost on some dark road, in these high heels, instead of lost in isle nine trying to differentiate between catalytic converters and piston defibulators. Movement at the end of the long row of fuel injected whatcha ma jiggies catches my eye. It is a man worth looking at. Something about this hunk of a male at the far end is familular. Is it his build? Or the roll of his shoulders as he walks? I know this man. But where? Did I date him? I meander closer. Maybe I knew him from work. Or did he come in my antique store? Click- click go my high heels as I definitely sashay closer. "Look at me", I scream in my mind, as his eyes are glued to the box in his hands. My mind races to place this guy. I know him from somewhere, but where? I hope it was that I married him during a wild drunken trip to Vegas. The floral shop? Girlfriends hottie brother? Ugh! On no! Sampson! I know him now. My baby's old babysitter. Sam was such a sweety pie. All grown up. The embarrassment spreads up my cheeks in a flush as I hurry unseen by Sammy to the checkout.
I am juggling my keys and purchases out in the parking lot when I drop my new hemmy powered dew hickey and it rolls under my jeep. I crouch down and peer at it laying there just out of my reach. So I try coaxing it out by taking a couple futile swipes at it with the torn bag it came in. I would just crawl under my car, but I am in my good skirt, and too mad to think reasonably. So instead I use the word the millatary used to shorten the phrase, "forced unlawfull cardinal knowldge". " Woah, ok Miss, but first let me get this here fore you", is what I hear as my old babysitter, the newly reconized Sampson, dives under the jeep and retrieves my gizmo. He gallantly hands my slightly muddy part back to me with a flourish. "Oh! Mrs. Robinson!", he stammers. It is his turn to blush. Ok the Mrs. Robinson part was probly just in my dirty old mind. Ever the polite young gentleman he offers to help me, "get it on", before blushing a deeper shade of -I want to bite my own tongue off red. In a matter of seconds I went from feeling incredibly old to very young. And then all I could feel was dirty.
Car parts work better than candy.