Seems the weather is about to change. Again. It has been nice and sunny for days.
So I got up and went to the drive-thru pharmacy, a new CVS they just built a few blocks away, and then to Walmart. I stopped on the way to Walmart at Super Cuts. There is a girl in there who understands that when I say I want it short, I really want it short.
I walked in and there were several people seated, and one in the chair. My girl was not there, so I decided to put up with my thick hair a bit longer. It isn’t usually the length that drives me crazy, but the thickness.
The only girl in there cutting hair had to talk around the piercing in her lip like she had a bit of her lip sewn shut. How distracting. Perhaps she had very pretty eyes, but who would see them with that on her lip?
This outing is very simple. I only go down one street in a two mile span. Not even one turn. A straight shot. I don’t seem to get lost if there are no turns to make.
So I drive on down the road to Walmart. Just last week I told Kay I would never go in there again. But lo and behold, there I was. The place is not a conducive atmosphere for people like me.
What is it about Walmart that seems to bring the worst out in people?
I had to buy clear caulk to add to my “make-shift” splash guard around the kitchen sink. Of course, no, I didn’t think of it. A reader wrote me and told me to do it.
You can get some great deals there, yes. I go around nine-ish and usually things aren’t too bad by then. However it never seems to make a difference what time of day it is for screaming children.
I guess I was one strict mother, because I would never have allowed my girls to scream in a store. We would have left the cart in the middle of the aisle and left post haste had they dared to so much as lift their voice an octave.
And they didn’t stand in line and beg for candy or gum either. One wayward look from me and they were quiet as little mice.
Alas, it is a different world. Where people pierce parts of their body they need to eat around. Just think of the bacteria! And have cell phones glued to their ears while they walk out into traffic they are scarcely aware of.
My shopping is pretty easy. I have to go all the way to the back for my dairy products, then maybe stop on the cereal aisle. Then it’s all the way to the front for freezer items and fresh produce.
I don’t think I’ve bought meat in well, maybe once since I’ve moved here. I’m picky about meat. It’s the texture. Been that way since I was a child. I tend to drink smoothies (oh shoot, that’s what I forgot: ground flax seed to put in the smoothies!) Or I eat boiled eggs, or salad and a sandwich.
I don’t veer off into fixing food that takes much time. First, the ankle doesn’t like it. Second, I am content with sliced apples and peanut butter. Or a baked potato.
I got all my groceries, which wasn’t a lot, out of the basket. There was a man in front of me who had maybe two items. But apparently he didn’t speak English. He kept pointing to his receipt.
The woman who checked him out was very nice and kept trying to explain that she had charged him for kiwi, but then realized her mistake, and had taken it off his bill. She showed him two receipts.
He didn’t understand. Finally he wandered off when his cell phone rang.
Oh, those damned cell phones!
I wonder how many cell phone fatalities a city has in a year’s time? What a waste of human life.
By the time she’s ringing me up, she realizes that the little machine I will eventually slide my card down isn’t working. In fact it isn’t even attached to whatever it’s supposed to be attached to.
But she decides to give it a try, since I don’t want to put everything back in the basket and move to another spot in line. I put my bank card in, and it is not accepted.
I tell her I know that is inaccurate. And I don’t want to use my one and only credit card either. So she has to take the receipt, with me trundling along behind her with my cart of groceries, and ring it up at another register.
This one accepts my card. I am a little rattled by this point, so as I’m going toward the door, I stop at the little McDonalds in Walmart and treat myself to a small caramel iced coffee. Have you had this? I love them!
I stand there waiting, thinking about what the young woman shared with me as she checked me out. Seems she spent ten years as a Target higher-up in California. But her husband cheated on her. And she moved here.
She seemed happy. She has two children, and is engaged to a police officer. She is going to school to become a nurse.
I swear I have so many people’s stories in my head from merely going out perhaps once per week! Heaven help me if I went out everyday.
I also treated myself to a small bouquet of semi-pretty flowers: $5. You can’t find cheap fresh flowers in this town. Or if you can, I haven’t found them.
I rarely treat myself. Just a few times a year. But I want pretty ones. Not ones that halfway look like the cat dragged them in.
I get home and the dogs are frantic, as they always are. You’d think I’d left them for days instead of maybe an hour.
When I leave I have to go through a certain fixed scenario, because Abi is going to start keening and throwing a fit as soon as she realizes I am going somewhere. So I quickly get myself out the door.
I’m sure Charlie and his wife next door look at one another and one of them says: “Well, guess Brenda is going out for a bit.”
Well, little Andrew is one years old today. My sweet little man. Like any grandma, I just feel that he won’t be the sort to grow up and get married and then blow up his marriage over some other woman.
Leaving two children adrift and moving from California to, of all places, Oklahoma. Which in and of itself was probably a trauma.
His college fund is well underway. His parents are very judicious about this sort of thing. He will go to good schools.
And if anyone dares to bully him, I might just have to leave my safe abode and place myself between the bully and my little man.
And if the bully is loud and has a cell phone ringing, Lord help him and me.