Adventures in living

Well, not so much, except that I stopped by the grocery store on the way home (tortilla chips, cantaloupe, milk, and stamps, if you must know).

I had my usual cashier luck, which means I wound up with the guy whom I always suspect of being an escapee from a home for the psychotically sullen.

Crowned with a ring of bald skull sprouting stringy, unwashed hair that catches decoratively in the unshaven stubble that seems to stretch to his eyebrows, this is a guy you wouldn't want to see on a crowded street at high noon, never mind in a dark alley. If Norman Bates' house grabbed a body and set out to be seriously scary for a change, it would look like this guy.

He seemed to take it personally that I'd chosen to infest his lane with my measly haul but I had to if I wanted stamps.

Besides, it was geezer night at the self-scan and of the things that can make me insane, standing behind a 120 year-old woman who doesn't understand the concept of a bar code is a big one.

You'd think that my better nature would prevent me from mocking the elderly, considering how close I am to becoming one, but as it turns out, I don't have a better nature, so that's okay.

I'm always surrounded by geezers at the grocery store. If they're not meandering down the middle of an aisle enjoying the sensation of being out for an airing, or peering at the shelves and wondering why they can't find the mayonnaise next to the Pepsi products, they're abandoning their seat-and-shop carts in the middle of traffic to toddle off and ask the butcher inane questions about hamburger.

There's one store we used to grocery shop at but the aisles aren't very wide and my roommate finally forbid me to go there any more after the fortieth time I whomped some old dear in the butt with my cart.

Grocery aisles are like streets, okay? Move with the darned traffic or pull over in a quiet spot, but don't cut me off for the pleasure of coming to an abrupt halt so you can compare the brands of pickle relish.

They're pickles. Chopped up. Just grab one and get on with it already.

Ahem.

Sorry. Bad hair day.

Let's start over, shall we?

More yadda, yadda

Okay, so, you know, so what if he's an amoral, blood-sucking fiend with a need to be dominated by strong but unstable women? Okay, sure, he's untrustworthy, unstable, and insecure.

How important, in the long run, are these little personality flaws? Me, I squeeze the toothpaste from the middle.

(Therapy. Often considered, rarely tried. Go there today.)