Sadness in familiar places

I saw something recently that truly made me sad.
My dad and I came down with a bit of stomach flu, which for me is no problem, but when you’re 78 it’s not so good. We were having a bit of gastric distress and I finally got him to agree to take some Imodium.
I had to go to Wal-mart to fetch it.
At 7:10 a.m. on a Sunday morning while the rest of my family got ready for church.
And while you’d think another trip to Wal-mart would be sad enough (my dad just hollered that he was ready to go “anytime you’re ready,” so I guess I’m going to Wal-mart – again) but no, this was worse.
At 7:20 a.m. on a cold Sunday morning in Nebraska, a couple was doing their shopping.
In their pajamas.
How fucking sad is that?
I mean, they consciously decided to go shopping – and made a conscious decision that dressing for the occasion didn’t mean dick.
They both had on flannel sleeping pants and fuzzy slippers; I couldn’t tell what they had on top, since they were bundled in their stocky winter jackets.
It just made me really, really sad.