We dropped Erik and Annette at the airport on Friday afternoon. Tears and hugs and promises to talk soon. Before we all dissolved into puddles, The Viking and I got into the car and drove away, Erik and Annette waving through the rearview mirror. We sniff and wipe tears but don’t speak for fear the internal howls of grief will escape.
When did they sneak into my soul? When we picked them up from the airport, a mere two and a half weeks ago, I was surprised to feel my throat close up and tears spring to my eyes at the first sight of them coming through those sliding doors. Their faces are as dear to me as The Viking’s. I hugged them hard for longer than I should have, and they let me. They must have known how much The Viking and I needed them.
There were joys and griefs, worries and fears to share. We celebrated The Viking’s 60th Birthday, each of us thinking how the years left to us should be filled with love and support. We plan future trips and things we’ll do. It’s easy when you are in the company of these beautiful people.
We refused to acknowledge the looming date of their departure, none of us willing to put a shadow on our time together. Instead, we drank and laughed and loved. We went to a pub to watch a hockey game – Annette has never experienced Canadian Hockey enthusiasm. We stayed in the mountains for a couple of nights despite the freezing temperatures. The Viking took Erik to the Man’s Porn Store (Princess Auto) and we all wandered through a mall looking for deals.
Mostly though, we Hygge’d – enjoyed each other’s company for the brief time we had. Someday, perhaps, we can spend more time. Hopefully. In the meantime, we talk on FaceTime and send messages of love on FaceBook. That will have to hold us.
All our loved-ones on the other side of the planet know that we send them hugs and love every day. Be safe. Be happy.
And, since this has been a post filled with sorrow, I’ll end with the saddest music ever:
Well, so much for sleep – I’m too excited. Erik & Annette* will be here this afternoon, dragging suitcases bulging with Danish candy and Akvavit. We’ve missed them so much there is a very distinct possibility of a spectacle in the Kiss and Cry.
They’ve come all the way from Denmark to help us celebrate The Viking’s descent into Grumpy Old Viking-hood. He’s been practicing for several years now and I think he has it nailed, just in time for his 60th birthday.
For now, I need to finish getting the house cleaned and I’m expecting shouting and crying and a loss of the will to live. You know – the usual emotions that precede just such events.
I feel several stiff drinks in the works later today and Hygge. Lots and lots of hygge.
Go ahead and leave The Viking birthday wishes in the comments. I’ll read them tomorrow at the party!
*Erik is The Viking’s brother and Annette is his beautiful partner.
It’s nearly Christmas, and I’ve noticed that there are literally thousands of articles listing Tips to make it through the Holiday Season with your sanity intact. So I thought I would add mylist to the Ad Nauseam because who doesn’t like Tips?
Tip 1. Don’t knock over your tree. And if you DO knock over your tree, blame it on the cat(s). And if you don’t have a cat, blame it on good-looking, single neighbour (your partner will be distracted by you spending alone time with a good-looking neighbour and totally forget you knocked over the tree).
Tip 2. Don’t get too drunk. Nobody likes a sloppy drunk who pukes in the Eggnog Bowl and calls your Mother Chewbacca the Wookie.
Tip 3. Never arrive at an Event empty-handed. Storming out after someone insults your kid is more dramatic if you take the gift too. Shout how expensive it is as you make your epic departure.
Tip 4. Shovel the snow from your sidewalk. Nothing makes Grandma crankier than wading through ankle-deep snow to get to the house and you definitely don’t want her calling you a Wanker all day long. That’s the kind of name that sticks forever.
Tip 5. Make your own Cranberry Sauce. Nothing says Love like manual labour and nothing pisses off Aunt Cheryl as quickly as pretentious up-staging.
Tip 6. Manage your outfit carefully. Not too flashy or attractive because there are bound to be family members who will remember nothing of the day except the fact that you wore sequins.
Tip 7. Bring slippers. Some floors are fucking cold and by the time you can make your escape your feet may have developed frostbite.
Tip 8. DON’T BRING LIME JELL-O SALAD!! It’s gross! Jell-o was never meant to hold vegetables, it’s a crime against humanity.
Tip 9. Pre-drink. Have a couple stiff cocktails beforeyou arrive or everyone arrives at your house. It never hurts to be half-tanked.
And finally……
Tip 10. Help with the dishes. Nobody is cheerful after stuffing themselves with 8 kg (17.5 lbs) of artery-clogging Christmas food and a bucket of booze. All the safe conversations are over and now it’s time to bring up past humiliations, like the time you didn’t shovel the snow off your sidewalk for Grandma, and/or predictions of future fuck-ups. Just help with the dishes and go home.
If you have other great Tips that help you survive, please let me know. I’m working on a comprehensive pamphlet.
And now…..
May your Christmas be filled with love and laughter. May you all be kind to each other because there are those who have no love or laughter. Heal hearts, spread joy and think of your Beloveds that can’t be with you.
I’ve been missing Mim lately. She lives 7 minutes away but she’s so damned busy fixing up her new house and working full-time that there isn’t much time for visiting. So, I was thrilled, naturally, when my phone rang yesterday and it was her.
She caught me up on her house projects and how much she likes her new job. I let her ramble for a bit before I said….
“You’re neglecting me.”
She laughed. “I don’t mean to neglect you, it’s just that I’m really busy.”
“It still feels like neglect. I only have The Viking for daily companionship and you know how much he enjoys listening to me talk about the challenges of shopping or why I need a tiny pony and two geese or why I should call him Maurice from now on. I can’t even get him to tell me that supper was more than just ‘fine’ or ‘alright’.” I keep hoping that one day he will take a bite of food and say ‘Holy Fuck that’s good!!’
Being receptive to my needs, Mim immediately asked me if I’d like to come to Home Depot after dinner. “We could browse around and maybe pick out some colors for your house………
Annnnnd, that’s where she lost me. While she was still talking I was cringing in something close to horror!
“Wait. Tonight?! You want me to leave my house tonight?!”
“You can ditch The Viking for a couple of hours, can’t you?”
“Yeess. But (tipping my head way back and howling to the Gawds) I hate having to go out after dinner!”
“I thought you wanted to spend time with me.”
“I do! I just didn’t think it would involve leaving my house. After dinner.”
“You could come for some tea and see what I’ve done with the house.”
“Does that involve me leaving my house after dinner?”
“Mom!”
Through intense negotiations we decided she would come to me one evening this week (I had to sweeten the deal by offering wine) and next week I’ll go to Home Depot with her after dinner. I’ll just have to postpone our nightly Netflix binge for another night. It’ll be fine.
Now that I’m thinking about it, I’ve never been much of a socializer; I paste a Happy on my face and make jokes hoping no one notices that I have a run in my pantyhose or a stain on my boob because I dropped a stuffed mushroom en route from my plate to my mouth.
Public get-togethers are fraught with perils:
Please don’t let my pantyhose fall down around my ankles as I’m going for another drink.
Please don’t let me slip and fall on my ass as I head for the washroom.
Please don’t let a pair of panties stuck in a pant leg fall out as I’m crossing the dance floor. Don’t ask.
Please don’t ask me to dance because I WILL step on your toes. Probably all of them, multiple times.
Please don’t let me get flatulent from the Broccoli Salad. And if I do get flatulent, please don’t let them stink unless I’m standing beside The Viking and people would just assume it’s him. Especially if I point a finger at him while wrinkling my nose.
Please don’t let my hair fall from a Hot Flash – Menopause sucks.
Please let me remember where I parked the car.
Please keep the catty bitches away from me because I can never come up with a witty insult on short notice and I won’t sleep for days just thinking about it.
And, finally….please don’t have a swimming pool anywhere in the vicinity because The Fucking Viking always has to get into the pool which means I’m obligated to get into the pool. In a bathing suit.
An actual video of The Viking near a body of water no matter the size:
Versus me in water:
I suppose what I’m trying to say is that I’m an Introvert that becomes a Super Introvert after dinner or at a social function, particularly if that social function involves dinner*. You would think Mim would know this by now. And she probably does but she thinks it’s good for me to face my fears or some fucking thing (she’s probably right but don’t tell her I said so). And, I’m the first one to admit that once I’ve been dynamited out of the house I generally have a nice time, as long as there is lots of booze and only three people.
So, while you’re not telling Mim, I’ll try to work on my Introvert-dom.
*I’ve made it a hard rule to never eat spaghetti or ribs when dining out – the potential for disaster is just too great.
My parents turned 80 this year and, as befitting such an accomplishment, my older sister organized a combined Birthday Party for them. At least I think it was just her, but it may have included up to two other sisters as well (there are 4 of us after all). I never thought to ask and now I feel slightly horrible because I had no responsibility other than showing up at the best restaurant in town at 2:00pm.
It’s slightly more than 400km (250 miles) from my house to the best restaurant in Barrhead so I had to use math, my fingers and reverse counting to make sure my arrival was early enough but not too early (Dad’s a stickler about timing). So it went kind of like this:
I have to be there at 2:00pm so I had better be there at 1:30pm.
It takes about 4 hours to get there so….12:30, 11:30, 10:30, 9:30……
Give yourself an extra half hour for traffic jams, speeding tickets and assholes who drive the exact speed limit in the fast lane.…..9:00am.
I’ll put some make-up on and since I haven’t done that in like 8 months I had better give myself a good 45 minutes in case I have to start all over at least once (and I did have to start over once)……8:15am.
I need 20 minutes for a shower (thank Gawd I don’t need to shave my legs because that would have added another 15 minutes to my prep time)…..7:55am.
I’ll make the coffee and it can brew while I’m in the shower…..7:45am.
I ripped through every article of clothing I own on Tuesday in an effort to find the perfect combination of nice but not too nice – it’s a Birthday Party, not a Royal Wedding. After two hours, one crying fit, one rage against the designers of womens clothing, eloquently fat-shaming myself and a serious consideration of just showing up naked….I found an outfit I considered understated yet classy. To be honest, it included Yoga Pants because 9 hours in a vehicle wearing dress pants makes me cranky. The shirt was nice though and I found an old pair of Opal earrings that were perfect.
I went to bed Tuesday night knowing I had everything under control.
And I really did have things under control. Right up to the moment I hit the highway. You see, I was driving The Viking’s truck, not my Rav 4. I couldn’t take my vehicle because The Viking found a crack in one of the tires and some scuffs on the rim.
Him: Did you hit a curb?!
Me(avoiding eye contact): No. Why?
Him: The rim is scratched, and the tire has a big crack in it!
Me:What?!
Him: Did you let someone else drive your car?
Me: No. I mean Yes.
Him(giving me the stink eye): Was it Junior?
Me: No. Yes.
Him(very loudly but not yet loud enough for him to call it ‘yelling’): You let Junior drive your car?!
Me: Yes. I mean NO! NO! I didn’t let Junior drive my car.
Him: …..
Me: Oh for fuck’s sake!! Yes I hit a damned curb! Twice actually. The first time it was bad city planning, and the second time it was Mim’s fault because she distracted me by talking while I was driving.
So. I was driving the big 1-ton dually and it has significantly more horse-power which turns me into a shouting, fist-shaking, finger-flipping, hair-tossing Harpy. I’m the sweetest driver on the planet when I’m driving my RAV, but Tina the Truck brings out the worst in me. And someone taking 20 minutes in the fast lane to pass someone in the slow lane drives me bananas. In the following 2 and a half hours I was forced to flip the bird to 4 drivers.
And then one other driver flipped the bird at me. As a matter of fact, they almost missed their exit so they could flip me the bird and that made my day. You have to admire such commitment.
I was telling my one sister (she drives the big transport trucks) about my finger flipping and she said she’s had to use both of her flipping fingers so much they’ve become Arthritic. She showed them to me. “See? Look at that poor little fucker.” (pointing with her other flipping finger). True story. A cautionary tale, if you will.
Due to construction and two freight trains my half hour buffer was toast, as was my early arrival allowance and I was forced into passing several vehicles that I normally wouldn’t bother with. I could just see my father waiting at the door to the restaurant, tapping his watch. “Cutting it a little fine, aren’t you Lor?” So, imagine my surprise when I arrived at precisely 1:54pm to find no one was there. Please, dear Gawd, don’t let me have the wrong day! I asked a waitress and she assured me there was a reservation for 10 at 2:00pm. But that’s only 5 minutes away and no one has arrived.
As it happened, everyone in the family is much better at nailing the time perfectly because at 1:59pm Mom was carefully exiting my older sister’s vehicle while everyone else was waiting for 1:59:59 before stepping into the building. Well…..I think that’s what they were waiting for.
Guess who wasn’t standing at the main doors tapping his watch? That’s right…..Dad. We all milled around wondering what could possibly have kept him from making inappropriate comments to waitresses, arguing with his daughters and being the center of attention? Those are the main sources of his life’s joy so it caused mass confusion in the herd.
It turned out he had to be taken to the hospital. He wasn’t doing well and we were all quite concerned. Thankfully, he was fine – an infection and some COPD – and after annoying his roommate and, more than likely, annoying the nurses for two days, they sent him home.
As for my drive home, it was far less eventful because there wasn’t any pressure to be perfect. No one was at home tapping his watch and shaking his head. The Viking was happily playing computer slots and enjoying the solitude when I finally got home. And…..he had a kiss on deck.
I’m an idiot and my idiocy has taken me down the same damned black hole I’ve been in many times before. You would think that I might have learned from the experience, but it seems not. Even my horoscope tried to tell me not to meddle. Did I listen? Nope! Because I’m a fucking idiot!
It happens like this:
Someone is crying like their heart has been broken into a million pieces.
I try to comfort with soft blankets, cookies, hugs and movies.
The crying subsides.
Being an observer from the sidelines, I try to encourage and empower.
They seem to appreciate the message.
They appreciate everything I’ve done.
They slide back into their situation, again.
I express concern.
They tell me that now I’m making them feel guilty which stresses them out more so they vow to avoid me for the foreseeable future.
I cry buckets for days until The Viking picks me up, dusts me off and helps me grieve.
And there it is. The complete hot mess. Someone goes happily on their way, stress-free, and someone hides in their closet for a week. Repeat.
Except….FUCK THAT!!! It’s time to start protecting my soul instead of throwing it out there for any dog to drag its ass on.
I haven’t been able to write a damned post for over a month because I’ve been too invested in a bloody debacle that has catapulted me into a full-blown Depression. And it’s affecting more than just a post – I’ve been bumping into walls and running stop signs as I’m frantically trying to find a solution that no one wants in the first place!
I’m sure there is a Life Coach out there that would tell me I’m not responsible for anyone else’s life, even if I created it years and years ago. I can’t make their decisions, I can’t change their situations and I can’t solve their problems. The only thing I can control is me and how I react to these situations. At the end of every crisis, I’m always standing there like a fucking idiot as I’m being pushed out of someone’s life. My inner voice is screaming “I thought we talked about this! You weren’t going to help! Gawd! You’ve gone and shot yourself in the damned foot AGAIN!” The outcome couldn’t be worse if I intentionally engineered it to be an epic failure.
The thing is…..this post isn’t about them at all……it’s about me and how I stupidly deal with these situations. I’m here because I’m a fucking idiot that is always trying to help when that’s the last thing they actually want. I’m my own worst enemy and I would be better served by keeping to myself and hope I never get that call in the middle of the night.
TRUTH BOMB: Their life is exactly as they want it to be. If they didn’t want their life to be the way it is, they would change it -with or without my help. So, stop being a fucking idiot and leave them to figure out their shit.
Now, I’m moving forward, trying to put the whole steaming, foul mess out of mind. I’m making a point of learning the lesson this time though. No more attempts at assistance. I promise.
I have no subject for an amusing post (sorry about that) because I haven’t found anything amusing for over a month. But, I’ll get outside today, maybe take a walk. I’ll attempt to distract myself and focus on The Viking and me. Surely, I’ll feel better in a few days. I’m already feeling better than last week.
The ground under my feet shifted on December 23rd. Not literally, of course, but something moved and my soul moved with it.
As you know, Mim (my amazing daughter) got married on that day. When Mim arrived at the church, her father (Stanley) and I made our way downstairs to the staging area. When we reached the bottom of the stairs and saw her…….time stopped.
Where did this gorgeous creature even come from? I looked at Stanley and saw my awe reflected on his face. He said, “She looks like Princess Ariel!”. And she did! I said, “I can’t believe we made that!”
And there was that moment. Thoughts that had been waltzing around my brain for a couple of years suddenly coalesced into a brilliant moment of clarity. My family circle had holes that needed to be filled.
I looked at Stanley again and my heart hurt. We’ve been so awkward since we separated but all the negative feelings have long since fallen away. Stanley found Mildred and I found The Viking and we’ve all created wonderful lives for ourselves. And there I stood, looking at our daughter, falling in love with Stanley all over again.
Skreeeetch!!Not like that!
Stanley and I are connected. We each hold a small piece of the other’s heart. There is kindness and respect and a deep love that will last until we die. We just weren’t meant to love like married people love. Instead, we were meant to love like only the very best of friends can love.
The question then becomes ‘How do we go from awkward and weird to Hygge* Friends?’ My lastencounter** with Mildred was sort of tricky. What we need is copious amounts of booze to rub off the rough edges and lubricate the Hygge. OR! Moderate amounts of Akvavit because that shit is like a truth serum.
So, on December 30th at 2:00pm, the Julefrokost began. There were six of us – Junior and his girlfriend, Stanley and Mildred and The Viking and me. It was sad that Mim and Kevin couldn’t come – they were both very sick and making the 4-hour drive in freezing weather was beyond their capabilities. We missed them both terribly, but the party went on as scheduled.
The Viking, Junior and I were the only seasoned Julefrokost-ers at the table so you would think we would break the Newbies in gently. You’d be wrong, though. It was Trial by Fire, Baby!!
We started off with Pickled Herring on rye bread topped with onions and boiled egg. Take one bite and shout SKÅL!!, a shot of Akvavit with a chaser of beer. I must confess, that first shot of Akvavit is a killer. My right eye slams shut and my left starts to water. My mouth contorts into an alligator smile. My throat burns and I can’t breathe for about 15 seconds. Then my entire body shudders and an involuntary moan wheezes out of my nose. I was so busy trying to survive my own first shot that I have no idea how Stanley and Mildred did. Apparently, they were fine because no one was on the floor when I finally stopped gasping.
Mildred & Stanley
As the courses progressed, we all became increasingly tanked. I kept spilling things (it’s what I’m good at) but Mildred was fast on her feet fetching the paper towels. I blame the Akvavit because Stanley started gesturing with his shot glass to emphasize his verbal points and we all thought he was Skål-ing so we shouted and drank. I was even trying to just sip my shots but it didn’t matter. I’m just happy I didn’t have a repeat of two Julefrokosts ago. Don’t ask.
Stanley demanded Honorary inclusion in The Viking Club, and after a short visual conversation between The Viking, at the other end of the table, and myself, we granted his wish. He & Mildred were embracing the Julefrokost better than anyone I know and so deserve it.
The conversation went from “How’s the weather on the hill?” to “We want to go to Europe.” to “We should go to Europe together!!” to “Gawd!! I love you guys!”
The Viking and Mildred bonded and Stanley and I sashayed down Memory Lane. We marveled at Mim’s Wedding and reminisced over vacations past. It was beautiful!
The next morning, though, I was a wee bit nervous. I hoped I didn’t need to ‘Apologize For Anything I May Have Done While I Was Drunk’. I thought Stanley and Mildred enjoyed themselves, but in the sober light of day will they ever come back? So, I handled it the way any rational human being would – I called my son. I pumped him for information so hard he finally had to tell me to ‘RELAX!! It went great!’ When Mildred accepted my friend request on Face Book I was thrilled!
Princess Mim called two days later and demanded to know if this will be a new family tradition? The Viking and I certainly hope it will. There will be plenty of other occasions together so we may as well do it as good friends. Junior was very happy to see both his parents sitting at the same table, enjoying each other’s company and Mim was sad to have missed it. We’ll just have to do it again.
Besides, if Kathy & I are friends we can be Back-Up Labor Coaches in the delivery room (Mim’s not pregnant yet but I can dream, can’t I?). You know….in case Kevin passes out or something. One on each side. Stereo encouragement! I’m sure Mim will appreciate it.
In the meantime, the holes in my family circle are filling up. How blessed can one woman be?
*A Danish word for spending time with loved ones, being cozy and calm.
Mim’s getting married on the 23rd of this month which means only one thing – I am one step closer to a grandchild that I will spoil rotten.
I suppose it means more than just one thing to Mim, like love and joy and a flashy ring finger, but for me, it’s all about the babies.
Of course, I share her excitement and want to make her day wonderful. When it was time to buy shoes and jewelry, I was more than happy to make a day of it. She had already purchased her Gown which left only the little things.
She came to the house expecting me to be ready….but I wasn’t. I was 15 minutes away from being ready and it was entirely The Viking’s fault. I didn’t want to waste time explaining at that moment and put us even further behind, so I waited until we were in the car and on our way to meet the Maid of Honor.
Me: It wasn’t my fault I was late.
Mim: It’s okay, Mom. It’s no big deal.
Me: But I hate being late. The Viking decided to poop just before I needed to be in the shower.
Mim: I hate that!! Argh!
Me: Me, too!! And he claims that he didn’t plan on pooping at that time, but I think it’s an entire male gender conspiracy. They know.
Mim: Oh, they know. When poop smell meets water vapor it becomes a solid!
Me: Exactly! The poop particles are in the air and as soon as I turn the shower on it turns the dust poop back into solid/liquid form and I’m essentially showering in poop.
Mim: YES! That’s just so gross! How can you possibly feel clean when you’ve had to shower in poop?!
Me: I’ve tried to explain this to The Viking and he just goes “Pfft!”
Mim: Haha! That’s also the sound of farts! Coincidence? I think not.
Me: Hahaha!! The Viking has never had to take a poop shower. Because I’m a nice person!
Mim: I yell when it happens at home. I totally understand why you had to wait for the dust poop to get sucked up through the fan. It’s a good thing you have such a good fan or you would have had to wait for a lot longer.
Me: And that’s why you’re my best friend. You understand how Science works.
The day turned out to be wonderful and we found beautiful things for her. I don’t often get to spend time with Mim; she lives about 5 hours from me – a fact that I point out every time I talk to her. I’ve even tried to bribe her but, apparently, she loves living where she does and the thought of coming back to the city isn’t very appealing. So, I make due with the time we have.
In the meantime, I’ll need to have a conversation with The Viking about solids, liquids, and air particles. Because there is no way we can have a freshly baked Grandchild exposed to that kind of thing. Since our little house doesn’t have room for a special Poop Room, we might need to consider the facilities at the gas station on the corner.
So I was at the grocery store yesterday – just picking up a few things for dinner. It was nearly that time already but I had other things on my mind all day and suddenly I thought “Shit! What am I going to make for dinner?! It’s blisteringly hot outside so I’m not cooking inside. Bar-B-Que it is!”
And everything went really well, almost right to the end. Because as I was waiting for the scale to verify the weight of my bags I looked up and…..time stopped for a moment.
Is that Stanley’s* new wife? Can I even call her the ‘new’ wife because it’s been a while since he married her. I consider myself the ‘old’ wife so I suppose that would make her ‘new’ wife.
That kind of makes us sound like cars, doesn’t it? I’m the old trade-in and she’s the shiny new one that smells awesome inside. EWW…!! That didn’t come out right. Not that she doesn’t smell good inside…..but how would I even know that? Geez! Let’s just pretend I never said that, okay?
So……I look up from the scale and I see her, but I’m not 100% certain it’s her….I’m in more like the 85 percentile of positivity. It looks like her but it’s been a while since I’ve seen her so maybe I’m wrong. This store is a little out of her neighborhood and while I don’t mind her shopping at my grocery store, I would like to know if it is, indeed, Mildred* or not, because shopping like a Meerkat is going to get weird.
Let’s put that aside for now though, because there are bigger issues here than whether she is Mildred or she isn’t. Namely, did she see me? We didn’t quite make eye contact before I dropped my head and stared at the screen in front of me. I diligently started scanning my items while my mind kicked into overdrive.
How am I supposed to behave? What’s the protocol? Do I wave? Should I do the Floppy Wave and keep it loose and friendly? A rigid, proper wave – my fingers straight and squeezed together, and make Wash On, Wash Off movements? Maybe a Queenly Wave – my hand cupped, palm towards me with kind of scooping motions? Or maybe she didn’t see me at all and the guy at the cashier behind her will think I’m hitting on him and I’ll have a situation in the parking lot?
Maybe I should just take a deep breath and plunge into the morass of awkward Divorc-i-ness. I’m not harboring any bad feelings but I have no idea what the other side feels. Maybe there is an incommunicado policy in place that I’m not aware of. Did Stanley tell her that I wanted to give him away at their Wedding? I thought it was a brilliant idea – the old wife officially giving him to the new wife. That would have started things off on the right foot, in my opinion, but Stanley threatened death and dismemberment.
Even if I do decide to take the plunge, what do I say for an opening salvo? Do I holler across 6 cashiers and say…..what?
“How’s that husband working out for you?”
Or “Hey Mildred!! Lookin’ good!”
Or should I be more formal “Felicitations Mildred!”
By the time I finished paying for my stuff, I had decided to just screw up my courage and make an oblique approach and maybe accidentally bump into her cart. I could pretend that I just saw her at this moment and not 5 minutes ago when I ducked down like a 3rd Grader.
There was a tiny whoosh of relief when I couldn’t see her. And then I wondered if she was doing the same thing that I was doing because she had no damned idea how to behave in these circumstances either. Maybe she hissed at her cashier to hurry the fuck up, then ran out of the store like the hounds of hell were at her heels. Maybe she even squealed tires trying to get out of the parking lot before I made my way out of the store. Probably not because she’s an adult, but I still wonder if she felt awkward too?
I’m going to blame this entirely on Stanley. First, because I haven’t done that for years and second, because he should have let me give him away at his damned Wedding. This wouldn’t even be an issue if we had started this off on the right foot to begin with.
In the meantime, I need a plan in case we bump into each other again. I need a suave and elegant opener and then hope to hell I did my hair that morning.
*I’ve changed his name to protect his identity and privacy. Because I’m just that kind of person.
*I’ve changed her name to protect her identity and privacy. Because I’m just that kind of person. What?! I like the name Mildred and it goes quite nicely with Stanley. Mildred and Stanley – see? It rolls right off the tongue.
It’s time for Friday Fictioneers hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields, the photo provided by Danny Bowman.
They stood side by side, the older woman’s arm around the younger.
“Between those two humps, your great, great grandmother buried 2 children – it was cholera. Three days later she gave birth to twins in the back of the wagon. They had to stop when the babies came, then they travelled through the night to catch the other wagons. She walked the whole time, a baby in each arm.”
“Really?”
“Yes. You come from a long line of strong women. A broken heart might hurt like hell but it won’t kill you.”
“Promise?”
A long, comforting hug. “I promise.”
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