On Not Being Stalked at the Grocery Store

Good morning, lovely readers!  I am up and bouncing around early today because my house is a mess, my yard is a mess, and sixteen Chaucer students are coming for dinner and a Monty Python movie tonight.  So there is much to do!

One of the things I had to do was go to the grocery store, and I am posting this brief tale at Mom's insistence.  She says it was "as embarrassing as sh!t" and that "you'd better put it on your computer thing so everyone can see what I have to put up with!"

This is called tough love, I believe.

So here's what happened:  Mom and I went to the Lowe's to get the really heavy duty cleaning supplies, and then we went to the Publix.  We go with a list, precious readers, because if we don't, we come home with three kinds of milk but no bread and have to go back.  And that makes us grumpy.

Having given Mom the half of the list labeled "salad stuff" (because Mom is the queen of salad making), I began to flit around the store, grabbing items in order off of the list.  Now, that is not the order in which they appear in the grocery store.  My list is, of course, alphabetical.  The grocery store is not.  So I was zigzagging around, grabbing things and carrying them to Mom's cart when I noticed that I was being stalked.

You see, everywhere I went, there was a nice young man in a Publix vest.  The same nice young man.  Around corners, near the freezers, by the sale items---everywhere.  I started to get nervous.  Surely, he wasn't following me?  I started flitting around faster, snatching items and then backtracking, to see if I could lose him.  No dice.  The more erratic my movements, the more quickly he followed.  It was creepy.  I started to grow alarmed.  Why was this Publix guy pursuing me with such vigor?  Did he think I was shoplifting?  Is there a rule against flitting in Publix?  Against shopping alphabetically?  I tell you, beloved readers, my heart was pounding, and not just because I was shopping at a near gallop.

Eventually, I stopped next to Mom and Mom's cart to rest and plan my next move.  That's when she gave me Exasperated Look #3 and said, "Do you realize that you have coffee dripping down the front of your shirt?"  And, lo! dearest readers, I did have coffee dripping down the front of my shirt.  Not just any coffee, but the coffee you can get for free if you get to Publix before 10am.  And, as you have probably guessed by now, I could see that the coffee was not only dripping down my shirt, but it had made a little trail on the floor.

I suppose you're giggling now, loyal readers, but honestly, I did not notice until that moment that 1. my hand was burning slightly from hot coffee, and 2. my stalker was carrying a mop.  It was a shameful moment, a horrible shameful moment when I realized that I had spent the last half hour darting through the aisles of the grocery store like Pac-Man in reverse, trailing little wet dots behind me that this dedicated employee was desperately trying to mop up before some other customer was gravely injured.  It is a terrible, dark day when you realize that the shopper from hell, she is you.