Friday Night at Freddie’s You know how sometimes you keep putting off buying groceries until you’re down to rubber celery and a can of mushroom soup? I dragged my depressed why bother the world sucks self to Freddie’s, one of those stores that sells groceries, guns, shirts, and wheelbarrows, and pushed my red shopping cart into a crowd of losers like me with nothing better to do on a Friday night. And clots of tourists debating over sesame buns or plain, pie or strawberry shortcake. I need milk, meat, eggs, fruit, vegetables, and a new broom. Looky-loos, beer toters, and shelf stockers, get out of my way. List in hand, I rattle along, oranges banging my corn on the cob. An old man pulls out a Marie Callender dinner with shaky hands. A woman stands from her scooter to grab a box of Triscuits. The daughter of someone I used to know struts along followed by three children like baby chicks. She never once looks at me. A giant saunters by, blue eyes, dark tan, head scarf like a pirate. As my last hormones spin, I almost run my cart into a pole. Red roses sit in a bin. Eight bucks. Who else will buy me flowers? Of course these are starting to wilt, and they don’t have any scent. Of a dozen check stands, two are open. Curvy woman in jeans rests one foot on the ledge of her cart like it’s going to be a while. Finally! Space on the conveyor belt! Unload fast as I can, don’t hold up the line. Pirate’s little brother, earrings, long hair, shoves my food across the scanner. The total keeps going up. Baby pirate dangles a puny sack. What are these? Apricots. Sixty cents apiece. Debit card, no cash, punch in PIN. One twenty-nine sixty-four. No one hears me curse. Dodging cars going every way in the parking lot, I unload my bags, return the cart, and peel out, planning the words I’ll write on my Facebook post under a picture of the roses I bought for myself. It’s not until I’m almost home that I smack the steering wheel. I forgot the stupid broom again! I wouldn’t use it anyway.
Dear friends, I hope you liked my poem. The injuries from my fall are giving me a hard time, so I thought I’d share something fun today. Feel free to share your own stories of solo shopping in the comments.
How did I end up alone? My first marriage ended in divorce. My second husband died of Alzheimer’s after we had moved to the Oregon coast, far from family. I never had any kids, only dogs. Now I live by myself in a big house in the woods. You can read our story in my memoir, No Way Out of This: Loving a Partner with Alzheimer’s, available at your favorite bookseller. The ebook version is on sale from now through Aug. 29 for just $2.99! That’s practically free.
Visit https://www.suelick.com for information on all of my books.
