don't get the wrong idea, I'm not a poster-waving, #pursessuck hash-tagging, anti-handbag lobbyist. the 2 handbags that I own (Ralph Lauren & Kate Spade, RIP😢) only come out on Sundays, or when I am pocketless and need something to hold my phone, lipstick and key fob.
I've seen too many ASP videos of miscreants attacking women for their purses. robbers and opportunistic sons of witches-with-a-B, that seem to be inexplicably drawn to the purse--like moth to flame, like steel to magnet, like... The Biebs to Selena!
so, long ago, I decided to no longer be the flame, magnet, or Selena. (giving up my Selena side has been tough. #pleasesendthoughtsandprayers)
yesterday, 2018. Meijer parking lot
I grab my earbuds, key fob already in jeans pocket, and then I grab my phone, get out of car and lock door. that's when it hit me. my phone is everything I need for my grocery Meijer experience.
1. music--to blare out any Meijer crazy rants, conversations, tantrums
2. shopping list--it's all there in my notes app
3. $$--apple pay (💙)
I strong walk into Meijer, confident that my phone and earbuds have turned out to be the perfect solution for any craziness Meijer can sling at me. airlock whooshes open and I'm smiling at the reality of my brilliance.
my Mako filled earbuds drown out the hit-and-miss Muzak. being purse-free means I can park my cart to search produce, instead of clenching a bulky cart that holds a massive, wide-open purse in the toddler seat. (btw, really? you leave your purse wide open? even 1/2 a step to select the perfect yellow squash is all a sinister-type needs to clean you out.) aaaand, I don't have to hear the two Meijer associates shelving and trash-talking their significant others.
but then, the unthinkable happens in the meat department; my perfect solution wavers. the tremor to my perfection solution hits in the form of a woman, her large cart, and her insistence on holding onto the cart with one hand--arm's distance--while slowly perusing. this stance: body, cart hold at arm's distance, and large cart means she is taking up 3/4 of the refrigerated poultry section.
and guess what?! I need chicken(!), the exact chicken that she is blocking with her 7 foot wingspan! seconds tick by... and no movement or acknowledgment that I'm next to her, clearly craning my neck staring at the very package of chicken breasts that is oh-so-close and yet s o f a r.
she doesn't care. her exhale means she's going to have a nice long think about this week's dinner menu for Hubby and Junior before she gives up her refrigerator pole position(s).
I'm at a loss as to what more I can do to get her, and her rig, out of park and into drive. maybe if I had a giant purse, I could nudge her into backing away? purse-envy washes over me, as I look at my tiny 7+ (plus, *overt eyeroll* yeah, right).
never one to succumb to defeat easily, I regroup, do I reach across her? do I, *gulp* speak an "excuse me...," risking a crazy interaction? do I tickle her arm pit? seriously, what are my options? all I have is an iPhone for crying out loud!
and suddenly, a faulty perfect solution presented itself. faulty in that I would have to stamp down my inhibitions, but otherwise, with the tools I had on hand--perfect.
the chorus, from one of my favorite playlists, Cross My Mind, Pt. 2, by A R I Z O N A fills my head...
"And I know I haven't been perfect, but give it some time
'Cause not a single day goes by where you don't cross my mind
And we spend our lives looking for things we can't find, oh
Oh, but not a single day goes by where you don't cross my mind."
I turn up the music volume, at first my voice is a low-whisper mumble, but it got her attention. so I get bolder, using my clear, steady "indoor voice" to sing as I pretend to peruse the rows of plastic wrap chicken flesh. my peripheral vision notes an uneasy glance at me, but no actual movement. I up the ante, and pat my thigh to the beat.
she grabbed her cart close and moved on to pork. thank the heavens above(!) that I didn't have to sing the refrain.
I'm hoping, that in some alternate universe, she's writing a blog about a blankety-blank Meijer crazy titled, "Meijer and the crazy off-key solo act."
