I washed my little car and went to get my blood drawn. (It's time to find out if *this* drug has kick started my painfully ponderous metabolism.)
Again pretty standard procedure--but lo and behold the tech (phlebotomist-- I believe is the correct title) is reading Janet Evanovich. In fact, the receptionist and the phone babe (I suppose she could be called the phoneblotamist) are also Big Plum heads and we stand there yapping for about 10 minutes. It isn't every day you start a book discussion at the lab. Quite odd.
Then as I was leaving one of them tucked the tag into the back of my shirt--which was a very sisterly thing to do but I wasn't aware that sharing a fondess for popfiction gave one permission to handle my garment care tag. Now, the girls at the grocery store that is another thing. They can fix my clothes but not complete strangers--like the guy at BloodBath and Beyond who tried to sell me Emerilware--he obviously doesn't understand that I am AB's girl through and through-- snort--"Emeril...bam!" (ROFL)
Yes-- the Womens of Hiller's. They are my friends. Barb, Sheila and Candy. They are the backbone of the check out staff at my fave grocery store--and dude I spend enough time with those women..I know when they have dr's appts and when their kids are getting discharged from the service. Scary--but true.
As I wandered the aisles hunting and gathering I swear to god this huge dude (old guy--like 70 ish but waaay big--his belly made a shelf over his belt. He didn't have a double chin he had like..I dunno--Walrus neck--was stalking me.
If I went down the soup row--HE went down the soup row. Everywhere I turned there was ancient Walrus man--getting paper products--pretzels--there was no way I was going in the beer cooler. I became a little afraid. I wondered why he was following me. I began to conceive an exit plan-- how to ditch him-- I doubled back through the frozen bovine secretions and looped around the kosher goods. I stopped outright at the deli counter--I would be safe there. i was secretly hoping cute butcher boy was working-- but no it was Cranky old lady with the hair net. "A half pound of Tavern Ham for sandwiches please." Minute sticked by with no sign of the predator.At last, believing I had lost my Walrus pursuer; I hurried up through the refrigerated section (yogurt. check.) to do a final lap through the bakery. And there he was. I froze in my tracks. His massive mustachioed bulk perched on a tiny cafe chair. He was stuffing a pastry (shortbread?) into his cake hole like he hadn't eaten in weeks (which dear one--he plainly had). He sputtered crumbs at his diminutive wife who sipped a coffee. I could barely see her hidden as she was between the cherry tarts and his enormous torso. I gathered my courage and calmly pushed my cart past the odd couple. I saw my friends waving me to the finish line--- if I could just clear this last 10 feet without the walrus capturing me I would be home free. I was a baby spotted seal--slipping through the ice at the last minute.
