Goodwill to all Peoplekind

I escape from the house in a hurry. Although generally I can find any excuse to avoid shopping, currently it’s a valid excuse for freedom. Now that Target provides groceries and prescription refills, I shall probably never need to shop anywhere else ever again. With luck on my side, I should be able to make a round trip in under an hour, long before Nonna awakens.

It’s a short list of necessaries, essentials, extras and maybe’s. I cast grumpiness aside, or is it fatigue – this must be the true definition of retail therapy; the chance to move about freely in a crowd, anonymous with a big cheesy grin plastered on my face. No questions, no demands, no repeats; it’s just like being in a spa:- a holiday for the mind.

I spend far too much money in far too short a time.

I step out towards the car, the final gallop to the finishing line. Always racing when I’m accosted by a large woman, with a loud voice and a bell – ‘spare some change for the missing children?’ I can feel a scowl cross my brow as I fight with the cart and it’s square wheel. Thwarted. Another interruption. I have no time to stand and stare, a white rabbit with a stop watch lashed to my ankle. My handbag is open in the baby seat shelf, my purse on the top, stuffed with receipts and lists, as I search for suitable lies:-

‘I’ve spent it all already,’ - but of course I used plastic.
‘I’ve already greased the palm of every Tom, Dick and Harry with an open hand this week,’ - but there’s always another one.
‘What do I care about missing children, the starving masses or the global warming?’ - but I can’t lie.
‘I’m too busy, too tired, too harassed to give a rat’s arse about anybody else for the moment,’ - would be the honest to goodness truth.

She is far too physically close, as she examines the contents of the cart – “I’ll take one of those milks instead if you like, or the bananas, a few of those rolls of bathroom tissue? Anything’l help.” I know my face is a sour pudding as I struggle with glasses, keys and life. What the heck. It’s only money. I’ve not had to slave for hours in an air-conditioned, soulless pod. I hand over the readies, into the black slot with the padlock and chain attached to the table leg – as if that’s a deterrent? “Thank you!” she beams with far too much enthusiasm than is warranted for such a bah humbug moment. “Give me some love with that,” she adds as I’m enfolded into her soft body with warm hands. I cannot remember when I was last hugged, properly, by an adult woman, let alone a stranger. I feel the surrender as I remember to breathe; it’s oddly comforting as I lay aside my English, ‘do not touch’ body language. “Now you sure have a Happy Holiday,” she insists as she releases me.
“I shall indeed, you too.”

Goodwill to all Peoplekind

http://alien-in-a-foreign-field.blogspot.com/2009/12/goodwill-to-all-peoplekind.html