Awkwardness

Alan and I had a day off together yesterday without babies. We were both extremely tired so we did the usual thing, lunch and a movie, then a stop at the grocery store before returning home.

I noticed a pear in our grocery cart that was dented because Alan placed a can of tuna on it, but he said it was me!

“I’ll get in line.” He says.

“O.K.” I say. I walk over to the pears, contemplating what to do with the damaged pear, should I give it to the lady at the checkout stand?  Nah. I decide to put it back in the bin and hope no one will choose it. I feel a little guilty about this. Especially after I spent the morning ranting on people’s behavior.

“There’s poop here, in the kids’ park! How could someone do this? I HATE people, how can they be so inconsiderate?” I said to Alan earlier that day. I followed with a list of the other things that really annoy me:

-People letting their dogs bark at the park at 7:30am on the weekends

– People driving crazy, not paying any mind to anyone else

– People simply annoying me for no apparent reason but to annoy me

I get back to the cash register and realize Alan’s in the lane with the checkout lady I ALWAYS avoid because it’s always awkward.

“Hi, your hair looks different, did you cut it?” she says.

“Um, maybe? Maybe it’s been cut?” I say.

“Yeah, it’s different, it’s longer in the front.” She says.

I clear my throat, make comments on how Alan’s packing the groceries.

“Don’t smash the bananas” I say.

“Do you have a cold?” she asks me.

“No, allergies” I say.

“Press right here, do you feel it?” She shows me a spot on the back of my neck. “Make sure you’re in the hole at the base of the skull, do you feel it? Do you feel clearer? You might have to do it longer.” I nod, I just want to move past this. I feel nothing but awkward and my nose isn’t even stuffed up, I just have an itchy throat. “What did you guys do today?” She asks.

“We went to the movies.” I say.

“What movie?”

“Spy”

“Was it good?”

“Yes, it was funny.”

“I haven’t been to the movies in a long time, I can’t sit that long, remember my knee? How I broke my Knee? It hurts if I sit for a long time.” She says.

Finally I swipe my credit card, we walk out the door.

“Why did you go to her lane? I never go to her lane.” I say to Alan.

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About Jenny Hynes

I am a painter, housewife, and mother of twins