Meijer and the face

here's the thing...I have "one of those faces."

you know the one, the face that looks like so many other faces, that all too often, you think you know me.

yep, that's me. you've politely waved to me as our cars pass, thinking I'm a neighbor down the street. you've waved at me with giddy vigor across the mall parking lot, thinking I'm your long lost high school sweetheart not responding to your annoying facebook or classmates.com requests. perhaps--if in 1988 you were summering in Colorado--you've even asked for my autograph. 

don't laugh!

one summer, I worked at a Colorado ski resort to earn money for the next semester of college. often, people would approach me all smiles, paper and pen in hand, and ask for my autograph. they chatted about Ted Danson, then graciously complimented me by saying I was much more attractive (and less annoying) than Shelley Long. experience taught me that denying the identity would only make the autograph seeker more persuasive; I learned to promptly sign "Kirstie Alley," smile and walk on. (I'm so shallow--I'm secretly thrilled that I am no longer mistaken for the current Kirstie Alley.)

other than ruining my dream of being an undercover CIA operative, it's not that bad being "one of those faces," I've learned to adapt.

my daughter and I were whizzing through the u-scan 12 items or less, we had a jam-packed day of Saturday activities. I would not, could not, let Meijer throw a wrench in my oh-so-tight-schedule. I paid, removed my bags from the bagging area, my daughter wraps her hands firmly around the cart's handle, we're off...

"did I show you the pictures yet?!" the u-scan cashier grabs the crook of my arm. "leave it to Jerry to bring home another cat! you know Jerry...you would think having five already--but none of the shelters would take him. wait! I've got some pictures on my phone."

the cashier flips through pics of the new kitty--Marvin--while I happily nod and exclaim, "oh, a black and white kitty!" as if black and white markings are rare, especially in cats. you know, doing my part to keep the conversation going, waiting for the inevitable let down of, "wait, you're not Agnes!" after praising her kindness to neglected kitties, and three minutes of tricky brain work to keep the illusion alive, my daughter and I walk toward the exit.

"who was that?" daughter asked. I explained the story of my face's life while we walked through the airlock and into the parking lot. just as I finished with, "I just have one of those faces..." a woman rolls down her window waving wildly. "hey, Tanya! see you tonight?"

without missing a beat, I shouted back, "I'll be there!"

oh yeah, I'll be there.

Meijer and the dress down friday

in the spring of 1989, at a Smith's grocery store's pharmacy waiting area, I had the misfortune of sitting next to an old codger. he was dressed in his Sunday best, even though it was Tuesday. he was wearing his permanently pressed polyester pants in the classic 1935 fashion--waist line high enough to nudge his man boobs, but not close enough to chafe.

I on the other hand epitomized the modern 1989 style of fashion. I had my classic Levi's ripped at the left knee with just enough strands of jean fiber hanging from the gaping hole. I was wearing a red wool cardigan, last two buttons buttoned, sleeves pushed up 3/4, white cotton t-shirt underneath. top that off with a mismatched set of earrings (one diamond stud, one large hoop) and pumps. yeah...vogue.

mr. codger took one look at me and declared, not muttered, but declared: "I wish people today wouldn't dress like vagabonds."

ouch.

so, fast forward to 2009. lately, walking through Meijer makes me feel like the words "mrs. codger" are tattooed across my forehead, in a very neat and tidy font, of course.

things are getting a little scary my flannel-pajama-bottom-wear-them-as-if-jeans friends. you are not fooling anyone into thinking that hot pink, drawstring flannel, with cartoon monkey faces, is actually day wear inspired by New York fashion week. but even the jim-jam attired patrons, or the winter coat over bathrobe patrons, or any other fashion "don'ts" that saunter across my Meijer aisle path, none of them are as bad as my experience yesterday.

just finished my checking-out exhaustion with chatty cathy cashier. she wished me "have a great day, and go Red Wings!" (they lost the Stanley Cup later that night). with that send off from her check-out lane, I pushed my cart to the right, and fell in line behind a woman that I guessed to be 67 years old.

her blondish hair was styled in a low pony tail, when she turned around to check that she hadn't left anything at the check-out lane, I saw she was wearing make-up, wore earrings with matching bead necklace. she turned back around, still in front of me, when I noticed her outfit...
I realized her black linen shirt was see through. I could plainly see her black bra straps and her pale skin through the shirt.

my eyebrows raised, surprised that a 67 year old with a non-hard body would be so daring. just after that surprise, I noted that she must have sat in something, because her white linen capri pants had a light blue-ish stain on her left bum cheek. a few more steps closer, made me cringe. it wasn't a stain...it was a bruise...showing through her unlined linen capri pants, that were intended to be worn with a swimsuit or at least very white, very concealing, underwear!

yet there she was without panty lines, without the obvious solid white underwear color beneath the linen...it was all her--all na-tur-al! quickly diverting my eyes, I gave a sigh of relief that I was just walking behind her, can't imagine the macabre peep show that could have been forced on me if I had been walking toward her.

the morning conversation I had with my husband while he dressed for work came to mind; "It's dress down friday at work!" he exclaimed.

apparently, 67 year old linen-lady got the memo.