Still Got It!

We had some real adventures in Commissary shopping this weekend. I usually schlep the kids out to the store by myself, but this week, we ended up making it a family affair, because we really love a good time. We decided to relay shop--Joe and George were in charge of produce (when it comes to picking out a good melon, George is a savant), while Luke and I were responsible for the aisles (he keeps me on track in the candy aisle).

About three aisles in, an elderly man on a motorized scooter wheeled up and stopped next to my cart. He stared at Luke and said, "You like money?" Like his mother, Luke had no idea where the man was going with this, so he stared. "He's very shy with strangers," I apologized. "No problem," the man said, laughing through his dentures, "he won't be in a second when I give him some money."

The man then proceeded to reach into the pocket of his yellow-with-brown-trim belted polyester coveralls to pull out $1.50 in change to put into my son's small hands. "Oh no," I protested, "That's very nice of you, but he doesn't need to take all your change." "Take it!" he argued, "I bet he likes money!" "How about just one?" I suggested, prying coins out of Luke's fists. "Just take all of it," he said. We were backing up traffic, which always makes the colonels' wives a bit huffy, so I gave up.

Call me Nostradamus, because I knew exactly what would happen next. Luke started dropping coins through the grates of the shopping cart and all over the floor. I'm not dressed for this, I thought, hiking up my low-rise jeans to squat down and start gathering coins.

Yeah! Low-rise jeans! Take that, pimple-faced college boy sales associate from Buckle, who told me he'd suggest high-waisted jeans when I was out shopping for new jeans in my original size two months after Luke was born! Take that, tactless, wet-behind-the-ears jerk!

Now, I don't mean to boast, but as I stood up, the man patted me twice on the cheek and said, "You're cute." I laughed and said thank you. "I bet you're married, though," he said. "Yes sir, I am," I replied. "I'm 89 years old," he volunteered. "Oh," was all I could come up with. If I had been thinking faster, I would have inquired about his bank accounts and his health, as my dream man (other than my husband, of course) is a rich, old man with a slow ticker. And since he seemed to enjoy giving money away...

Anyhow, he wheeled off and left me in the dust, picking up coins every five steps. I kept a safe distance from him the rest of our shopping trip since Joe wasn't with me to defend my honor. I'll probably always wonder what could have been. Either way, I've still got it! Ow ow!