Mrs. Hillbilly Mom has apparently lost her touch. She is no longer EVERYWOMAN. Okay. Not so much EVERYWOMAN as EVERYCLERK. Used to be that no matter where I was, people came up to me to ask questions. The Devil's Playground. Save A Lot. Country Mart. Didn't matter that I wasn't wearing the requisite blue or red or green vest. Folks just assumed I worked there, and could answer their questions. Must have been that teacher air about me. And now it's gone. Gone with the wind. Frankly my dears, I don't give a limp carrot. As Sweet Gummi Mary is my witness, I shall never be an authority figure again!
When I came out of The Devil's Playground, using the exit door (The Pony would be so proud), I headed halfway up the parking aisle, pushing my cart. I didn't even have to use it like a walker today. My knees were behaving. I was almost to T-Hoe when I saw a little old lady coming down the parking aisle on foot.
"Ma'am? How about the horn?"
A guy on the next aisle over was talking to her. I thought maybe she'd had car trouble. Actually, at first I thought maybe he was a disgruntled parker who was passive-aggressively hinting that she should have used her horn. Or HE should have. That maybe they'd nearly had a collision. She was a little old lady! So I kept one ear on them as I put the groceries in T-Hoe's rear. I didn't want him to give her a hard time.
There was a blonde woman coming up the aisle now. The little old lady (LOL) walked up to her. Said something.
"Oh. Okay. Let's go look." The blonde lady walked up nearly to the end of that parking aisle with the LOL. I guess she had forgotten where she parked. I felt bad for her. I doubted that she had parked all the way up at the end. Maybe she was just in the wrong row. I've forgotten before, when I wasn't paying attention, and varied from my usual pattern because the lot was crowded. But the lot wasn't crowded today. I guess the LOL didn't have a remote with a horn honker on it. It really made me sad.
Also...as I left, I thought, "What's wrong with ME? I walked right by her! Why didn't the LOL think to ask ME to help her? Am I off-putting? Do I look senile? Might I be some kind of axe-murderer? (Everything IS all about ME, you know!)
I forgot that train of thought as I pulled out of The Devil's parking lot, headed up the road behind The Dollar Store. There was a guy digging in the dumpster. I don't begrudge anybody a good root in a dumpster. One man's trash, you know. But I DO begrudge one man wearing cargo shorts so loose that they hung off his butt. I mean OFF his butt. Not just low. His full cheeks were exposed. I can only surmise that his cargo shorts were being held up by some appendage in the front. Thank the Gummi Mary, he was wearing some gray boxer briefs, which prevented a FULL PLUMBER'S CRACK MOON.
He probably found those shorts in a dumpster. Thus the fit.
5 comments:
A simple question for you: What is the meaning of life?
HM--Some men think that kind of clothing/fit is stylin', just like some men think when they're clad only in a pair of (probably dingy) tighty-whities, they're hotties.
Most likely nottie.
fishducky,
You live until you die. I think I heard that in a country song.
Now if you'd asked me the simple question: "Why?" I would have known the exact answer, because a college professor told me. That was his final one year. Students filled their Blue Books with line after line of writing. Used up the entire exam period. Explained the Big Bang, or condensed the Bible, or detailed evolution. Only one student got it right. His answer? "Because."
***
Sioux,
Around here, the tighty-whities are pretty white, thanks to Tide With Bleach. The only problem is that sometimes, the tighty-whities aren't worn. Like during a trip down the basement stairs and through the workshop and out to Poolio on summer evenings.
Don't you wish you had a slingshot? You could have nailed that guy in the butt, then sped away giggling. Why do old men think it is okay to walk around naked? I have seen my naked self in the mirror and I don't think anyone needs to be exposed to that ....... maybe they have not looked in a mirror?
Kathy,
They barely have shame. When The Pony trotted upstairs to get my sweatshirt one evening, he caught Farmer H parading to the laundry room. Farmer H grabbed my sweatshirt off the back of the couch, and held it over his AREA. The Pony was mortified. He carried it down with thumb and forefinger. I'd say he made less contact with that fabric than Beaver Cleaver made with Miss Landers' elbow as he escorted her out to the picnic table the night she came to dinner.
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