When I get sick, I act like a big baby. I understand this about myself. But when The Princess gets sick, it’s much, much worse. Because when she gets sick, the whole system breaks down.

This “broken system” is the reason why on Sunday evening, I had to go to Bath and Body Works. Shopping for things that “smell nice” or “feel good” is strictly a girlfriend-only errand. I’m more of a shopping for things that “sound cool” or “look awesome” kind of guy. But with The Princess incapacitated by a bad case of the tummy ache, the onus of buying presents for these two middle school kids we sponsored for Christmas fell on me.

We had to buy each of them — a boy and a girl — a $25 present. This meant that I had to venture out — alone — to Bath and Body Works, a girly mecca of lotions and fragrances to buy a gift basket for a 13-year-old girl I knew nothing about. As a result, I had the funniest experience I’ve ever had at Bath and Body.

(I should say “funny” rather than “funniest” since that implies I have had enough funny experiences there for me to rank them.)

I walked into the store in the Prince George’s Plaza and instantly felt terrified. Female shoppers were everywhere, rummaging through a variety of mutli-colored bath stuff and perfume-scented products that do nothing more than attack all my senses at once, and not in a good way.

When I perform my all-American duty of consumer shopping, typically the most annoying five words I hear are the following:

“Can I help you, sir?”

Fuck no! I often think to myself. I consider myself an independent shopper who doesn’t need the assistance of someone who would rather not be talking to me. But this time, I walked right up to the first Bath and Body employee I saw and asked for her help. I explained that I needed a $25 gift basket for a teenage girl and that I would buy whatever she considered appropriate.

She showed me one that had three bottles of vanilla-scented crap and something called a loofah. I pointed to a different one that had a candle in it and said that looked nice. She advised against it. Repeatedly.

Employee: “No, you shouldn’t get that one, it has a candle.”

Arjewtino: “But it looks like a better gift, I think.”

Employee: “No, it’s more for adults, let her stay a kid a bit longer.”

Arjewtino: “Why? Is a candle an adult thing?”

Employee: “What’s a 13-year-old girl going to do with a candle?”

Arjewtino: “I don’t know, what’s a grown woman going to do with a candle?”

For the next five seconds, I thought she was going to slap me upside the head. She stared at me as if to say, “You ignorant motherfucker.” I laughed awkwardly to break the silence and added, “Then again, I’ve never been a 13-year-old girl. Heh. Heh.” I’m a social genius.

I asked to see more gift baskets and she showed me some at a different table. We looked around and finally agreed on a basket that had some sort of “Sweet Pea” theme and a penguin hand scrubber thing. She finally asked me who I was shopping for and I told her about the middle school kids.

Arjewtino: “After this, I’m going to Target to buy something for the boy.”

Employee: “What are you getting him?”

Arjewtino: “I have no idea, I’m trying to think of what I would have liked when I was 13.”

Employee: “Well, what did you like?”

Arjewtino: “Girls.”

Employee: “You could always get him a girl.”

Arjewtino: “But then I’d be his pimp.”

Proud of my ability to shop for a teenage girl, I took my basket of stuff and penguin to the register. The checkout chick, a young, attractive woman with an outgoing personality, asked if she could interest me in some last-minute impulse buys. I shot down each of her offers.

Checkout chick: “You sure you don’t want anything else?”

Arjewtino: “No thanks, I’m good.”

Checkout chick:“You just wanted to see me smile.”

I laughed and felt flattered at what I realized was her flirting with me. I know how hot I can look when I’m holding moisturizers. Then again, maybe she was just trying to sell me more stuff I didn’t need, like a stripper who makes you feel special but then asks you to buy her a drink.

At the end of the transaction, she asked me for my home number.

Arjewtino: “My what?”

Checkout chick:“Your telephone number.”

Why did she want this? I thought. I wasn’t buying batteries in Radio Shack and the purchase was already complete.

Arjewtino: “Why do you need my phone number?”

Checkout chick:“We send out special discount coupons.”

Over the phone? I thought. How is that possible? Whatever. I gave her my number. Then, she leaned closer to me.

Checkout chick:“Also, it’s how I meet men.”

I laughed.

Arjewtino: “Ok, but if you call and my girlfriend picks up, hang up.”

Checkout chick:“Don’t worry, I’ll call late.”

See what I mean? The whole system broke down.