Have you ever run to the supermarket on a Monday evening? There’s only one reason you do this: your fridge and pantry are as barren as a spinster’s vag. I looked like shit, the kind of shit where I would have had rollers in my hair with one of those silk scarves over it, had it been the fifties. I had my shopping list in hand, and knowing Shop Rite’s layout well, I planned to swiftly make my way down a well-choreographed path, going straight to the products I needed. Bananas, yes; romaine lettuce, um hm; salt and vinegar chips for Daughter 2, right in the cart. What I didn’t plan on, however, was running into Monica in the refrigeration aisle. It’s a good thing it’s winter coat season, because normally that aisle makes your nipples stand at full salute.
It’s a good thing it’s winter coat season, because normally that aisle makes your nipples stand at full salute.
By the grace of the spirit of my father, I saw Monica before she saw me. I just wasn’t in the mood to do the whole, how-are-the-kids bullshit. So, I did the preoccupied thing, where I was doing the lean-in and looking at a product intensely. It worked. A few minutes later, though, we were both in the freezer aisle. (Again, I was grateful for the down-insulated breasts.) She was way too close this time, so I said, “Hey, Loretta!” I wasn’t being friendly due to proximity only; I was saying hello, because I knew that she had noticed me and pretended not to. So, I was going to nail her for that, and I did. Shit, she couldn’t get away from me fast enough. She literally turned her cart when I was mid-sentence. If that cart could have burned rubber, it would have. Well, I won’t be inviting her to my canasta game anytime soon. Good thing I don’t play canasta.
I mastered those aisles like a debt-ridden contestant in that Supermarket Sweep show. I then was checked out by a sweet man with a repaired hairlip, who always looks like he’s smiling. He did a great job until he bagged my bananas alone. Come on, you can’t waste a bag for one product—you shove that last product on the top of one of the packed bags. I thanked him then made my way to the parking lot.
When I emerged from the store, I made a quick left, and BAM, there was Phoebe. Shit! We actually both didn’t pretend not to see each other this time. We kissed hello and did the whole how-have-you-been and are-you-still-with-the-boyfriend dance. I’ve known Phoebe since I’m a kid, because she was close friends with my aunt. When we finally finished our banter, I realized she hadn’t asked me at all about my aunt, who is very sick and struggling right now. But, I guess she had Hot Pockets on her mind.
Finally, I was almost at my car. Then, out of the corner of my eye, I saw Rachel. I swear it was like trying to sidestep landmines. I simply wanted to enter, grab my dinner and exit. Instead I had to tap into my acting skills again and try hard not to lock eyes with anyone or anything. I’m pretty sure Rachel saw me, and she kept on walking. I did the same thing. I mean, the only time Rachel and I talked was at a party after a few vodkas anyway. We never had much to say to each other at school pickup.
The moral of the story here is this: If it’s a Monday night, order a fucking pizza.
I have no idea why I chose Friends characters for the false names of the women at the supermarket. These women are nothing like these characters. If they were, I would have happily engaged with them.
I dedicate this blog to my sick aunt. May her mind be calm in a very scary time in her life, and may her journey last a lot longer.
*All names have been changed.
**Tap on the FOLLOW button at the bottom of your phone or computer to receive emails alerting you to new posts. (Move your finger or mouse around, and FOLLOW will appear if it’s hidden.)
Woman Uncorked 