I’m looking for a new salsa at Harris Teeter for to put on my baked potatoes. I hear “clip clop clip clop” behind me. My unsubtly clandestine gaze is drawn to a woman with blazing red hair, one of those faces that, while attractive, you can sorta tell what she’s gonna look like when she’s older, and the biggest high heels I have seen on a woman EV-ERR. Why do women who wear high heels also wear tight jeans? What is that? Seriously, I have no idea where this fashion tandem arose. I remember the Jordache commercials. Were they that influential?
This video doesn’t have high heels but ladies, let me ask you: these jeans look so hard and unforgiving, like they might hurt your…lady parts. Amirte?
So my mind’s eye spits out the barely appropriate bon mot that I wish I would have said, had our choreography been a little more mutually sympathetic (like walking down the same aisle in different directions) . I try to shut it out, but it simply will not go away. I get my Edy’s brand fruit pops, and keep an eye out for the redhead in high heels. And miraculously, she approaches! Sort of. And I keep telling myself to shut up. Don’t say it. WHY say it? NO REASON to say it. She’s too young to understand. And if she’s not, she’s old enough to know that idiots like you usually mean her harm. Don’t say it. Don’t say it.
So I pull up along side her and meekly offer up the following:
“I’m glad I didn’t wear those shoes today. We both would have looked pretty silly…”
“Yeah, we would have looked silly…”
And off I went to check out.
This is an example of me not being able to contain myself. I guess I have been in enough situations where I “wish I’d have said that” that I don’t want to feel that anymore.
Last time this happened we were at the World Market and Olivia went off to the bathroom herself. She asked the 40-ish lady where the bathrooms were. As O went off, the lady asked me if I was sure it was ok for her to go by herself. I said that O was pretty much a free-range child by now, and assured her that it would be alright. I could tell I wasn’t reaching her. So I asked her “Do you have kids?” And she sheepishly indicated she had none. So we shared a mutual laugh at the fact that she was ..he heh…judging my parenting. I didn’t call her an old maid or dried up or a spinster selling shitty, overpriced bags of coffee, nor did I ask her if she “wanted one” after she indicated she was barren…er…childless. I guess you had to be there. Well, I did. I was driving.