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My grandmother was going to have a home visit with one of her social workers at one in the afternoon today so I had a lot of things to do this morning; besides the usual morning routine, I wanted to get to the store to buy my grandmother a bunch of things she had been asking me for (bobby pins, packets of Kleenex), and my son needed milk, and there were no paper towels. So I got my grandmother up and put in her glaucoma drops, gave her her coffee and pastry, then her blood pressure pill, then made breakfast for the three of us, then hurried to make the beds and clean the bathroom and wash the dishes, before heading out to the store. The question arose before I left: Change now, or change later? I knew when I got back home I would still have a few things to do before the home visit (clean the cat boxes, sweep the patio), so I thought it would better to wait and get all spiffy until just before the visit.
Thus I left the house and arrived at the store looking like something the cat dragged in. I had on rumpled sweat pants and a dirty teeshirt, my worn out kicks, uncombed hair pinned with a claw, reading glasses at the tip of my nose, Chargers lanyard around my neck with my keys and crumpled pics of my son dangling down. It didn’t really dawn on me how I looked until I got to the store, so I grabbed a cart and hurried to get the things I needed, embarrassed at my appearance and wanting to get out of there quick. While I was in the paper products, trying to grab the economy size package of toilet paper mid-aisle, a man looked around the corner and smiled and said, “I just want you to know you are a beautiful woman.”
The last thing I expected to hear when I looked like something the cat dragged in. I turned half away, blushing, and murmured, “Oh!” He went back around the corner, I grabbed the toilet paper and threw it in my cart and zipped off to find the next thing on my list, glad that it was the last thing I needed and at the other end of the store. While I was in the aisle where the tongs were (my grandmother wanted some extra-long tongs to pick things up with), the man suddenly comes around the corner again and holds out his business card. “You can reach me at this number. Anytime, twenty-four hours a day.” I reflexively took the card, murmuring, “Oh!,” blushing and turning away. He smiled, said, “Well, you are beautiful and that is the truth. The truth is the truth,” and left me to my shopping.
The world is so normal, strangely normal. I need to get out less.
My grandmother was going to have a home visit with one of her social workers at one in the afternoon today so I had a lot of things to do this morning; besides the usual morning routine, I wanted to get to the store to buy my grandmother a bunch of things she had been asking me for (bobby pins, packets of Kleenex), and my son needed milk, and there were no paper towels. So I got my grandmother up and put in her glaucoma drops, gave her her coffee and pastry, then her blood pressure pill, then made breakfast for the three of us, then hurried to make the beds and clean the bathroom and wash the dishes, before heading out to the store. The question arose before I left: Change now, or change later? I knew when I got back home I would still have a few things to do before the home visit (clean the cat boxes, sweep the patio), so I thought it would better to wait and get all spiffy until just before the visit.
Thus I left the house and arrived at the store looking like something the cat dragged in. I had on rumpled sweat pants and a dirty teeshirt, my worn out kicks, uncombed hair pinned with a claw, reading glasses at the tip of my nose, Chargers lanyard around my neck with my keys and crumpled pics of my son dangling down. It didn’t really dawn on me how I looked until I got to the store, so I grabbed a cart and hurried to get the things I needed, embarrassed at my appearance and wanting to get out of there quick. While I was in the paper products, trying to grab the economy size package of toilet paper mid-aisle, a man looked around the corner and smiled and said, “I just want you to know you are a beautiful woman.”
The last thing I expected to hear when I looked like something the cat dragged in. I turned half away, blushing, and murmured, “Oh!” He went back around the corner, I grabbed the toilet paper and threw it in my cart and zipped off to find the next thing on my list, glad that it was the last thing I needed and at the other end of the store. While I was in the aisle where the tongs were (my grandmother wanted some extra-long tongs to pick things up with), the man suddenly comes around the corner again and holds out his business card. “You can reach me at this number. Anytime, twenty-four hours a day.” I reflexively took the card, murmuring, “Oh!,” blushing and turning away. He smiled, said, “Well, you are beautiful and that is the truth. The truth is the truth,” and left me to my shopping.
The world is so normal, strangely normal. I need to get out less.