Event of the week

I've just got home from a chi-sapping shopping trip. No, it wasn't the tedium of it or the muzak or the queues. I'm immune to those, and even if I wasn't, there would be no point in writing about them. This was a first for me.
I was about halfway done when I noticed a Waddler trailing me. She seemed to
need the same sort of things I did: for every piece of cheese
fingered, roll squeezed or toothbrush evaluated (I'm a cranky sort),
she followed suit with looming over Laughing Cows, gazing at sliced
loaves and parking herself in front of a stack of loo rolls. Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery, I thought with a smirk.
After a while, I grew tired of her ungainly gait and changed gear. A
quick dart round the homebaking section, a dozen sleek strides along
the jams and preserves plus a hairpin bend soon had her foxed.
A little later, having got through the chekout, I was just about to congratulate
myself on my tactics, when I heard a shrill voice address me. I turned
and there she was, brandishing a store detective's ID card and
'requesting' me to follow her. We wound up in a stuffy back room,
where she made me empty my backpack and pockets. Then she frisked me.
She had a large boil just by her left ear.
I saw ya, I saw ya, she kept telling me, stop denying it, c'mon, I
know you've got a pack of Tampax on you, now where is it?
I decided to ignore the boil jiggling about as she spoke. Time
stood still.
Eventually, she had to squeeze out a runt of an apology and let me go.
That's all.