I didn't know if I'd ever be able to find it, that one piece of television gold that shaped the person I am today.

And then I made a visit to the South Wal-Mart location. I battled through a maze of corporate evil, and poor merchandising, and blue vest wearing, part-time employees staring up at the florescent lights while drooling and walking in circles (LEFT TURN! LEFT TURN! LEFT TURN!). And I can't forget the People of Wal-Mart, like the forty-five year old cougar who wore a mid-drift FCUK hoodie paired with saran-wrap style jeans that squeezed her gunt into a lower level uni-boob to match her mom lumps ontop. I now have a new appreciation for my Mom's polo shirts: "Guess where I got this, Linds? VALUE VILLAGE. Guess what brand it is?! GUESS! DENVER HAYES BRAND. GUESS HOW MUCH! NO, GUESS! GUESS! $6.00! B-R-A-N-D N-E-W!"

Anyway, I finally found the missing puzzle piece of my soul:

I know, look at little Laura Ingalls. So precious.

And look at her here in an action shot. . .

"The crop was damaged by the hail storm?! For whatever will we do for winter, Pa'?!"

So I've decided that if I ever bare children, I will declare one day a year as Laura Ingalls Wilder day. We will dress up as prairie pioneers (when the children are between the ages of two and six and are too naive to wonder how mommy ever got laid) and we will visit the local Western Development Museum. And when I write "we", I really mean that they will dress up as little prairie pioneers, 'cause I am too cool for that.