Just One of the Guys. Kristan Higgins
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tone to the evening. People glance at each other then quickly look away. A woman buying cilantro seems to be taking great pains to inhale appreciatively. I am a sensuous woman, appreciative of life’s little gifts. Ah. Jeez. I grab a bag of apples, plop it in my cart, then move on to Poultry.
There’s a middle-aged man in front of the chicken breasts, holding up package after package, examining each one closely, a thinly veiled metaphor for his true purpose tonight. “I haven’t had a good meal since my wife left me,” he announces loudly. Four women zip over to advise. No one in Chicken Thighs seems to be my age, so I turn down Juices & Bargains. A curly-haired student type darts a look at me, then pushes his carriage quickly past. Don’t bother, I tell him silently. A grown man who drinks Kool-Aid? Please. I’m more of the Gatorade type myself.
To think I wore my new shoes for this. Down to Cookies & Crackers. I grab a few packages of Double Stuff Oreos. Can’t have enough of these around the house. Matt and I eat them like they’re Chicklets. The aisle is empty, as no other shopper is willing to publicly admit they eat cookies.
This isn’t working. I didn’t really imagine it would, of course. Sighing, I turn sharply at the end of the aisle and head up Cereals & Breakfast Treats. I’m out of Choco-Puffs, and Matt ate the last of the Pop-Tarts last night. There, in front of the specially advertised, cholesterol-lowering oatmeal, is dear old Mom, talking to two men. Cripes. Ten minutes in the store, and she’s got two potential dates.
“Chastity! Come over here. Right now.” There’s a familiar militant note in her voice. I obey and join her, towering over her suitors.
“This is Grant,” Mom says, indicating the five-foot-seven man. “And this one…Donald?”
“That’s right!” Donald (five-four) applauds. “Well done, Betty!”
“Hello,” I say. “I’m the daughter. Chastity.”
My mother turns to me and puts her hands on her hips. “Grant and Donald are interested in a threesome,” she announces loudly. “With me.”
“Good God!” I splutter. “Not with my mother, you freaks. Get away from her or I will kill both of you and dump your bodies in the river.” They remain frozen in terror, so I slam my size eleven foot into their cart and send it careening down the aisle. “Go!” I bark. Terrified, they scuttle down the aisle toward the vegetable oil.
“Thank you, darling,” Mom says briskly. “Disgusting! People today! I can’t believe that.”
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