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Senior Citizen Musings

For the record, I do feel a twinge of guilt at the thought that my Nana might read this. Not enough not to write it, you know, but a twinge nonetheless.

Whenever possible, I try to do our grocery shopping mid-day. With the stores almost empty, I'm able to browse and meander like a little old senior, nothing but time. Of course, there's a problem with the stores being almost empty. It's just me and the actual little old seniors. And the seniors gravitate toward me as if I were QVC...or tennis balls on a walker...or a small dog to leave in the car...or an afghan to knit...or a rose show at the botanical garden. These are the things that come to mind when I think of seniors. Any chance they'll read this (excluding my Nana) and keep their distance from me?

At Smith's yesterday, I was all alone in the cereal aisle, enjoying my personal space, when out of nowhere an old man came up behind me and exclaimed, "This place is almost turning into a Walmart!"

I turned and gave a little smile and nod. Why do I encourage the seniors? The old man continued. "It will be just like a Walmart soon enough. My father had a store some odd years ago, rest his soul, and he sold bread. Those long breads, you know the ones. They're long. Bread. He sold them for nine cents."

Quite a story. I gave another awkward half-smile, my brow raised in a way I imagine translates to I'm just trying to be polite. Please leave me alone. I turned back to the Cheerios. Apparently though, we had a facial expression language barrier.

"Baguettes! That's it," the old man continued. "He sold baguettes for nine cents on the dollar and this one lady would always argue it's too much to pay and he would tell her, he would say just you wait. One day, they'll be a dollar. And boy was he right! A dollar for a baguette, just like he said."

What did that have to do with Walmart?
This old-timey fellow was getting his baguettes for a steal.

Leaving the store, I found myself trapped behind a little old lady. Barely able to see over her shopping cart, she was right in the middle of the walkway, blocking me from passing on the left or the right, as she slooowly trudged her way to the exit. Just as she was passing the final checkout stand, another little old lady pushed her shopping cart forward. Anyone could see what was about to happen, (they were moving at a snail's pace, after all) and anyone in this situation would have stopped walking. Anyone except for these two little old ladies of course, now at a crossroads, their carts touching and blocking my way to freedom.

"Oh," exclaimed one little old lady.

"Oh," exclaimed another little old lady. They both laughed. "I'm a bad driver!"

"I'm a bad driver too," the first little old lady insisted, smiling. "We'd better keep off the roads!"

"Agreed. We'd be a danger for sure," said the other little old lady.

And then I eventually, what seemed like an eternity later, watched as each little old lady made her way to her vehicle and got into the driver's seat.

And then I floored it, determined to return to the safety of my home before either left the parking lot.