I made a mad dash to the supermarket yesterday right before rush hour. I don't mean I was driving madly, my car would never put up with that, but you've gotta leave home by 2:30 if you want to avoid the madness. And I've had enough madness in my life.
I critique while I drive. My alternate life would've been a traffic engineer. Funny cuz my ex-husband is a city planner. So I'm pulling into the Willow Grove Giant Supermarket. It used to be a Home Depot. They've kept some of the eye-popping orange color but - whoa! - the curvaceous road leading downward into the valley where the store is located is fierce! And dangerous. Since the average speed in this neighborhood is 50 mph your average driver can easily lose control of his or her vehicle and end up anywhere - in the wrong lane, against the steel fencepost, thru the windshield.
Very poor traffic engineering, I say to myself as I thread downward toward the parking lot. Plus the concrete median strip in the middle is unmarked - a 63-year-old dame with failing eyesight could easily mistake it for the road. Hiccup!
I always park in the same area. I back in for a quick getaway. Backing in is good for the whole body - particularly your aching neck which sits at the computer more hours than it should. Remind me to tell you later about pedaling on my stationary bike.
I keep a canvas bag in the back of my car in which to carry my groceries. I abhor plastic bags, which are outlawed in Canada, I believe. Ever seen the suckers sitting high-up in trees like they own them?
So I fetch my shopping bag like I'm a European, sling my backpack over my shoulder and head into the store. A good-looking man is ambling out of the store, pushing the cart with his elbows in a relaxed fashion. What a honey, I think. HE would be fun to snuggle up to in the wee hours of the night when noises from my laundry room beckon.
When is it polite to look at cuties and when should we avert our eyes?
Can it be? Can it be he? My long-lost love?
I'm wearing my long skirt over my thermal underwear and have on my sandals. My hair as usual is unbrushed. But look! You can't hide who you are. No matter how hard you try. It's like if you're a cigarette smoker. You're gonna reek from top to toe, and the person you're talking to will gag inside.
Plus I've got these hideous sunglasses on cuz I've lost my two favorite pair. But I need to protect my contact-wearing pupils from the bright light.
We get closer to each other. He's totally bald with a sexy mustache and wearing a navy jacket that says Ford Motor Company.
I feel like flinging my arms around him and hugging him but I've gotta get moving.
We exchange pleasantries. "What dyou want for dinner tonite," I ask.
"I'm easy, you know that," he says.
"All right, I'll pick up something delicious. See you later, Scott," I say squeezing his shoulder.
