I was born with a forehead that reads, "Tell me anything," anecdote #648.
So there I am standing in the organic chip aisle at Kroger, wondering for the second time in a week why they're out of Red Hot Blues, my favorite spicy blue corn chips. Is it as simple as a supplier shortage, has Kroger disavowed them or have they ceased making them because I am in the minority of those who like their corn chips spicy?
I'm startled out of my reverie by a voice inquiring, "How old are you?"
When I pivot, I see a woman standing in front of the supplements and vitamins, a box in hand. I'm curious why you're asking, I tell the stranger.
This is when the words, "Tell me anything" begin lighting up my forehead and she takes it to heart.
"I'm 57 and I just started dating this man," she begins in a conspiratorial tone. "Now, we haven't consummated anything yet, but he doesn't use, you know, condoms. And I don't believe in abortion. I don't believe in birth control, either."
Two things occur to me. First, surely this woman I've never laid eyes on isn't asking the world's biggest relationship failure for dating advice and second, how many 57-year olds worry about birth control?
She extends her arm so I can see the box in her hand: all natural prenatal vitamin supplements.
"If there's going to be an accident, we're going to have a healthy baby!" she assures me, tossing the supplements into her cart. "Better not take any chances with the baby."
Go for it, I tell her. Take charge of your body, especially if you don't want this man to keep it in his pants.
But mainly, I'm impressed that this woman who doesn't believe in any sort of family planing apparently has no qualms about pre-marital sex. Even better, I admire that she's optimistic enough to think pregnancy is a possibility.
Wishing her the best of luck with him, I continue shopping. When I get to the check-out, there she is in line and graciously waves for me to go ahead of her since I have fewer items.
"Do you play tennis?" she asks and I laugh out loud.
It's the skirt I have on - an athleticwear skirt with shorts built in and a gift at that - that no doubt caused her to guess I had even one athletic bone in my body. No, I can walk long distances but zero hand/eye coordination, I tell her, placing my groceries on the belt.
Turns out she teaches tennis to the 40+ set on clay courts in Northside ("Much easier on our knees") and she suggests I give tennis a try. Her confidence about my tennis potential is matched only by her positive attitude about the results of sleeping with this new man.
We are soul sisters in unfounded optimism. Introductions are made and email addresses exchanged.
I couldn't turn off the sign on my forehead if I wanted to, but the truth is, why would I want to?
Showing posts with label shopping. Show all posts
Showing posts with label shopping. Show all posts
Sunday, June 11, 2017
Wednesday, January 7, 2015
Disco Inferno
I'm sort of a pro at this look.
With plans to go to a disco-themed party in a few weeks, I set out this afternoon seeking an appropriate dress for disco-ing in. My requirements were based on three criteria: had to be polyester, had to have the kind of skirt that moves when you dance and had to remind me of something I actually wore back then.
Just to be sure of the last one, I looked at some old pictures before setting out. Because, yes, I spent far too much time dancing in clubs back in the '70s and there's evidence to prove it.
My first stop was Halcyon Vintage, where I ran into a photographer I know making an impromptu purchase of a celery green polyester dress that wasn't too far off the era I was seeking. She guessed instantly what party I was shopping for, telling me that if nothing else, I could wear a tuxedo jacket and black pants a la Bianca Jagger.
Explaining that I don't do pants (then or now), she wished me well in my search.
When the saleswoman offered to help me look, I stipulated that it had to be polyester like everything we wore back then. Although why we thought a synthetic fiber was good for hours of dancing on a crowded dance floor is beyond me.
She agreed laughing, then found a dress that, while vaguely 70s-ish, was nothing I would have worn then or now. Promising they'd be getting in more '70s stuff, she suggested I check back.
But I was on a mission, albeit one with a very limited budget. It was on to the Clothes Rack where I met a woman who said she had a Western boot fetish and bought a pair she said she didn't need. I heard her telling the saleswoman about how she justifies her purchases to her husband with half-truths.
Me, I wasn't so lucky (or have a husband to answer to) and left with nothing.
My next stop was the Hall Tree which had scads more dresses than either of the other places. I began scanning the racks to see what they had in polyester that would work. As I looked, I kept in mind the stuff we'd worn back in the day.
After a few minutes, I realized I was smiling and it was because of the cheesy radio station they had on. The music was as much a throwback as the kind of dress I was looking for.
Heat Wave's "Always and Forever" from 1976. McCartney's "With a Little Luck" from 1978. Barbra Streisand and Barry Gibb's "Guilty" from 1980, which I haven't heard in a million years.
Pulses racing, darling
How grand we are
Little by little we meet in the middle
There's danger in the dark
A Gibb brother serenading me? It was the soundtrack to go disco dress shopping to! A dozen dresses made it into the dressing room with me and three made the final cut. The eventual winner looks amazingly similar to the dress I wore New Year's Eve 1977, except it's not red and the V-neck is not cut all the way to my waist like that one had been.
Which brings up a funny story. When I'd worn that red, polyester dress out to dinner on the southwest D.C. waterfront that night before going to a club to dance in 1978, a woman had stopped me as we were led to our table for dinner.
Eyeing the waist-deep slit on the front of my dress, the older woman had pointed and sneered, saying, "Wear it now while you can, honey! You won't be able to wear that when you're my age." Maybe it was my youth, but it seemed like an incredibly rude thing to point out to a stranger, even if it was true.
So here I am three decades years later with plans to wear a remarkably similar dress - synthetic so it'll be hot as hell to dance in, but with a flared skirt that it'll look great when I do so - with the major difference being a respectable V-neck instead of full decolletage.
I'd say I hope she's happy now, except I'm pretty sure she's dead. Satisfaction came in a chain reaction, as the Trammps sang.
Who's still dancing now, old lady?
With plans to go to a disco-themed party in a few weeks, I set out this afternoon seeking an appropriate dress for disco-ing in. My requirements were based on three criteria: had to be polyester, had to have the kind of skirt that moves when you dance and had to remind me of something I actually wore back then.
Just to be sure of the last one, I looked at some old pictures before setting out. Because, yes, I spent far too much time dancing in clubs back in the '70s and there's evidence to prove it.
My first stop was Halcyon Vintage, where I ran into a photographer I know making an impromptu purchase of a celery green polyester dress that wasn't too far off the era I was seeking. She guessed instantly what party I was shopping for, telling me that if nothing else, I could wear a tuxedo jacket and black pants a la Bianca Jagger.
Explaining that I don't do pants (then or now), she wished me well in my search.
When the saleswoman offered to help me look, I stipulated that it had to be polyester like everything we wore back then. Although why we thought a synthetic fiber was good for hours of dancing on a crowded dance floor is beyond me.
She agreed laughing, then found a dress that, while vaguely 70s-ish, was nothing I would have worn then or now. Promising they'd be getting in more '70s stuff, she suggested I check back.
But I was on a mission, albeit one with a very limited budget. It was on to the Clothes Rack where I met a woman who said she had a Western boot fetish and bought a pair she said she didn't need. I heard her telling the saleswoman about how she justifies her purchases to her husband with half-truths.
Me, I wasn't so lucky (or have a husband to answer to) and left with nothing.
My next stop was the Hall Tree which had scads more dresses than either of the other places. I began scanning the racks to see what they had in polyester that would work. As I looked, I kept in mind the stuff we'd worn back in the day.
After a few minutes, I realized I was smiling and it was because of the cheesy radio station they had on. The music was as much a throwback as the kind of dress I was looking for.
Heat Wave's "Always and Forever" from 1976. McCartney's "With a Little Luck" from 1978. Barbra Streisand and Barry Gibb's "Guilty" from 1980, which I haven't heard in a million years.
Pulses racing, darling
How grand we are
Little by little we meet in the middle
There's danger in the dark
A Gibb brother serenading me? It was the soundtrack to go disco dress shopping to! A dozen dresses made it into the dressing room with me and three made the final cut. The eventual winner looks amazingly similar to the dress I wore New Year's Eve 1977, except it's not red and the V-neck is not cut all the way to my waist like that one had been.
Which brings up a funny story. When I'd worn that red, polyester dress out to dinner on the southwest D.C. waterfront that night before going to a club to dance in 1978, a woman had stopped me as we were led to our table for dinner.
Eyeing the waist-deep slit on the front of my dress, the older woman had pointed and sneered, saying, "Wear it now while you can, honey! You won't be able to wear that when you're my age." Maybe it was my youth, but it seemed like an incredibly rude thing to point out to a stranger, even if it was true.
So here I am three decades years later with plans to wear a remarkably similar dress - synthetic so it'll be hot as hell to dance in, but with a flared skirt that it'll look great when I do so - with the major difference being a respectable V-neck instead of full decolletage.
I'd say I hope she's happy now, except I'm pretty sure she's dead. Satisfaction came in a chain reaction, as the Trammps sang.
Who's still dancing now, old lady?
Monday, February 4, 2013
It Was the Curve of the Red Pears
My life: random episode number 7,835.
Shopping at Kroger, nature calls.
I drop my basket near the vitamin aisle for safekeeping.
As I head to the restroom, I find myself behind a woman with a pained look on her face.
A male Kroger employee is coming out of the bathroom looking resigned, with his mop and bucket in tow.
The woman has apparently knocked and asked him to leave so she can come in.
When she sees me approach, she says, as if in explanation,"On a scale of one to ten, I'm a seven in needing to go."
It's all yours, I tell her.
When I exit, the first thing I see is a guy rifling through a basket exactly where I left mine.
As I get closer, I see it is my groceries he's touching.
That's my basket, I tell him, in case he's confused.
"You have really good looking stuff," he says looking sheepish and standing back up so he can scuttle away.
Really good looking stuff?
I look down at my basket, seeing a bag of spinach, a dozen eggs, some thick-cut bacon and a half dozen red pears and apples.
Good looking stuff?
When I mention it to the cashier when I check out, she raises an eyebrow.
"Is he a stalker or something?" she inquires.
Not that I know of. He just thought I had really good looking stuff.
All available for purchase, as far as I could tell.
"Have a good afternoon," she says, handing me my bag. "Watch out for weirdos."
It's a little tough while I'm using the facilities.
Shopping at Kroger, nature calls.
I drop my basket near the vitamin aisle for safekeeping.
As I head to the restroom, I find myself behind a woman with a pained look on her face.
A male Kroger employee is coming out of the bathroom looking resigned, with his mop and bucket in tow.
The woman has apparently knocked and asked him to leave so she can come in.
When she sees me approach, she says, as if in explanation,"On a scale of one to ten, I'm a seven in needing to go."
It's all yours, I tell her.
When I exit, the first thing I see is a guy rifling through a basket exactly where I left mine.
As I get closer, I see it is my groceries he's touching.
That's my basket, I tell him, in case he's confused.
"You have really good looking stuff," he says looking sheepish and standing back up so he can scuttle away.
Really good looking stuff?
I look down at my basket, seeing a bag of spinach, a dozen eggs, some thick-cut bacon and a half dozen red pears and apples.
Good looking stuff?
When I mention it to the cashier when I check out, she raises an eyebrow.
"Is he a stalker or something?" she inquires.
Not that I know of. He just thought I had really good looking stuff.
All available for purchase, as far as I could tell.
"Have a good afternoon," she says, handing me my bag. "Watch out for weirdos."
It's a little tough while I'm using the facilities.
Saturday, August 4, 2012
Off the Rack
As a female who doesn't like to shop, I am a bit of a traitor to my sex.
But sometimes a companion needs to go to Diversity Thrift and why would I not at least browse through the dress choices?
It's not like the pants hold any interest for me.
Among a lot of school marm-looking dresses, I found a couple of things worth trying on because you never really know until you see something on your own body.
The first, a black and red print dress had a vaguely European peasant look to it, not my usual style.
On the other hand, I'd look right at home in Italy in it.
The other was more of a dressing gown with a prairie look. Again, not my style.
So now I can look right at home on the prairie, too.
Maybe it was the heat that had me imagining myself in different ways.
Lunch followed at Lunch where, conveniently, it was happy hour.
The Wolf Trap White Blend from South Africa jumped out at us both for its grapes: viognier, chenin blanc and grenache blanc.
It had everything: floral notes, a woody nose and nicely balanced acidity, making it a fine August afternoon indulgence.
While revisiting the '80s via the restaurant's soundtrack, we tried new-to-us sandwiches like the Parker Field and the 10K.
I know from my Richmond-born father that Parker Field disappeared long before I arrived and I did once walk a 10K, so that was enough justification for our choices.
A few other tables joined us in our late afternoon meal, although no one seemed to be enjoying Men at Work and Depeche Mode quite as much as we were.
We opted out of dessert only because I had homemade peach ice cream in the freezer at home.
With my peach allergy, I shouldn't be eating it in the first place, but the richness of peaches and cream is too alluring.
After the amount I dared to eat, I could have one of two problems.
One, my tongue will swell and my mouth will itch in reaction.
Two, my fitted little peasant dress will display a slightly more well-rounded peasant in it.
Sometimes a woman's just got to take those chances.
But sometimes a companion needs to go to Diversity Thrift and why would I not at least browse through the dress choices?
It's not like the pants hold any interest for me.
Among a lot of school marm-looking dresses, I found a couple of things worth trying on because you never really know until you see something on your own body.
The first, a black and red print dress had a vaguely European peasant look to it, not my usual style.
On the other hand, I'd look right at home in Italy in it.
The other was more of a dressing gown with a prairie look. Again, not my style.
So now I can look right at home on the prairie, too.
Maybe it was the heat that had me imagining myself in different ways.
Lunch followed at Lunch where, conveniently, it was happy hour.
The Wolf Trap White Blend from South Africa jumped out at us both for its grapes: viognier, chenin blanc and grenache blanc.
It had everything: floral notes, a woody nose and nicely balanced acidity, making it a fine August afternoon indulgence.
While revisiting the '80s via the restaurant's soundtrack, we tried new-to-us sandwiches like the Parker Field and the 10K.
I know from my Richmond-born father that Parker Field disappeared long before I arrived and I did once walk a 10K, so that was enough justification for our choices.
A few other tables joined us in our late afternoon meal, although no one seemed to be enjoying Men at Work and Depeche Mode quite as much as we were.
We opted out of dessert only because I had homemade peach ice cream in the freezer at home.
With my peach allergy, I shouldn't be eating it in the first place, but the richness of peaches and cream is too alluring.
After the amount I dared to eat, I could have one of two problems.
One, my tongue will swell and my mouth will itch in reaction.
Two, my fitted little peasant dress will display a slightly more well-rounded peasant in it.
Sometimes a woman's just got to take those chances.
Thursday, December 24, 2009
Christmas Eve Morning Observations
It's not often I get to do my Christmas Eve (or Christmas day) walk in the snow. In fact, I can't remember a time I ever have, although I've only been walking for ten years. The streets were fairly quiet, as I anticipated, but several things gave me pause.
The line at Sallie Belle's on Grace Street was a dozen deep by 9:30 and they don't even open until 10. They close at 3, and I'm almost tempted to wander by in the 2:00 hour just to see the crazed last-minute customers. I have to assume that their traditional baked goods must be essential to some people's holiday festivities.
Although the south-facing streets are in decent condition to walk, the north-facing ones are still quite covered in snow. I saw a large cactus plant, maybe two feet high sticking out of a snow mound. All I could see were the tips of the cactus leaves and needles with a crust of snow. Did Mother Nature intend for this to happen? I also got a smile out of a "Keep Off the Grass" sign nearly covered in snow. If there's grass underneath, it was nowhere in sight.
Unfortunately I had to go to Kroger, where pandemonium reigned. A stranger said to me, "I can't believe we were stupid enough to leave this for today!" I'm with you on that, honey; what was I thinking? The aisles were a traffic jam of people, many of them clearly not pros at grocery shopping and impeding the progress of the rest of us. Lots of customers wore Santa hats and everyone was unusually friendly and pleasant, though, so while it was challenging to get in and out, there was a certain festive air to it all.
I already know what a difficult holiday this is going to be, given the hole in my life, so I'm not expecting a great one. I'm just hoping not to dissolve into a complete maudlin mess while making my way through the rest of it.
The line at Sallie Belle's on Grace Street was a dozen deep by 9:30 and they don't even open until 10. They close at 3, and I'm almost tempted to wander by in the 2:00 hour just to see the crazed last-minute customers. I have to assume that their traditional baked goods must be essential to some people's holiday festivities.
Although the south-facing streets are in decent condition to walk, the north-facing ones are still quite covered in snow. I saw a large cactus plant, maybe two feet high sticking out of a snow mound. All I could see were the tips of the cactus leaves and needles with a crust of snow. Did Mother Nature intend for this to happen? I also got a smile out of a "Keep Off the Grass" sign nearly covered in snow. If there's grass underneath, it was nowhere in sight.
Unfortunately I had to go to Kroger, where pandemonium reigned. A stranger said to me, "I can't believe we were stupid enough to leave this for today!" I'm with you on that, honey; what was I thinking? The aisles were a traffic jam of people, many of them clearly not pros at grocery shopping and impeding the progress of the rest of us. Lots of customers wore Santa hats and everyone was unusually friendly and pleasant, though, so while it was challenging to get in and out, there was a certain festive air to it all.
I already know what a difficult holiday this is going to be, given the hole in my life, so I'm not expecting a great one. I'm just hoping not to dissolve into a complete maudlin mess while making my way through the rest of it.
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