…and other pre-snow commentary…
Yesterday’s social media post seems to have generated a bit of activity, so I will share it here, for a wider audience to enjoy. Or not. Whatevs.
❄We stopped by the store this afternoon to pick up a few things. You know, just odds and ends that you might need in case we’re snowed in for a couple of days. I know you’re thinking, “milk sammiches” but really, it was booze.
Anyway, after weaving my way around 2,457 of my closest friends at the overpriced grocery store that I insisted we go to because it’s the only one that carries the wine I like, I was loading my essentials onto the belt.
My husband wasn’t helping.
He got away with that for about a loaf of bread and a bag of mixed vegetables, before I started swearing under my breath about having to do *everything* around here. Then, I hear him, barely a whisper, say, “psst, babe! Hey… babe!”
I look up.
His eyes are wide and fixed on something behind me. A bead of sweat was forming on his upper lip, his face had gone pale and he may have trembled slightly. He had my full attention as I tried to figure out what is going on. I follow his gaze to the conveyor belt, where my groceries were starting to pile up behind the divider bar, separating my order from the gentleman in front of me.
Then, I saw it.
As I glanced at the items ahead of mine, I understood this guttural reaction. The realization hit and I turned back to my visibly shaken husband, who said, “ He shouldn’t be doing that, should he? I mean, should we stop him? What if he doesn’t know?”
It’s tough, sometimes, making those judgement calls, trying to decide when to intervene and when to mind your own business.
I answered him with a calm, but firm, “no.”
I told my husband that he was right to be alarmed and I was proud of him for identifying the problem, but that the cashier was almost finished ringing items through and we would not be getting involved. “Honey,” I said, “no matter what you do or say, there will always be people who will purchase and drink boxed wine.”