There’s Bitchy and There’s Old-lady Bitchy

I could’ve called it My Bitchy Saturday but opted instead for the other title.  It started off with the grocery store clerk putting my bag of apples at the bottom of the bag, then placing two dozen eggs, a pound of turkey, and a container of cake on top of them.

Yes, I bought a bunch of items that could all be considered fragile.  But when I rearranged the bag, mumbling that I didn’t want all that on my apples, she said, “The eggs don’t weigh much.”

One egg doesn’t weigh much. 24 eggs weigh, at least, 24 times as much. The turkey weighs a pound. She didn’t mention the turkey. I don’t like bruised apples. Neither do my dogs.

As I walked to my car, stunned that a 2019 grocery store employee could be so daft, it occurred to me that maybe she only heard part of the training.

Save the eggs at all costs!

Protect the eggs!

Nothing is as valuable as the eggs!

Maybe she had no training regarding produce. I know the Costco folks don’t have any. I’ve seen those vendors slam apples into the bins. I’ve seen baggers slam them into the carts.  Four days later, all twelve of them have bruises.

But I digress.

The second bitchy moment was when I went to the hardware store for bird food. After I found the thistle because the cute vector control rat guy says rats don’t like thistle and that I should stop buying sunflower seeds because rats love sunflower seeds, I had the heavy bag of thistle in one hand and a box with eight (yes, 8!) blocks of suet in the other, along with a suet cage (I am sure the rats will love the suet).

I got into the single line that fed us customers to the three cashiers working up front. Three teen boys were behind me in line, and one of them said loudly, “Excuse me!”and brushed past my left elbow holding the box. He sidled up to his dad at one of the cashier stations and got some money. Then he came back around me, picked out a coke, went around me again and proceeded to buy his coke when one of the cashier stands opened up. Then his two friend did the same, each one of them paying separately, while I stood there holding a lot of weight.

My arms were ready to drop all the bird stuff, and I looked disgustedly at the three entitled boys and their one clueless dad, who were monopolizing two of the three cashier stands. Yes, I live in an entitled town where everyone thinks their kids’ poop doesn’t stink. But seriously? In my teen days, if I had done that, not only would one of the adults present have made me apologize to the old lady, I would’ve also had to carry her items to her car and probably go home with her and wash her dog, as well.

But I digress.

As I left the store, grumbling about no good teens today, I realized I had turned into an old lady, one who dyes her hair blond.

Maybe if I dyed my hair gray!

I caught myself. Dyed my hair gray? I cracked myself up at my own faux pas.

I did a couple more errands and ended up at Sis’s board and care with the daily newspaper in hand (Harlan loves the sports page) and also the carrot cake.

When I walked in with it and asked Sis how her lunch was, she said, “Terrible.”

“Want some carrot cake?” I asked.

“No,” she said.

“Why not?” I asked.

“Rose says I’m fat.”

Rose is the caregiver. You think I was bitchy before? Well, think again, people! I marched down to the kitchen and told Rose that Sis wouldn’t eat any cake because she said she was fat!

Rose backpedaled while I said, “Don’t do that!  Cake is something she looks forward to. Don’t tell her she’s fat!”

I was thinking, You’re fat, too, Rose, so there!

Man, that is enough bitchiness for one day. I am so glad I get to go hear live music again in the park tonight.

An old lady needs to have a good time every now and then.

Couldda Shouldda Wouldda

I should’ve clocked those three boys, but my arms were full.

 

 

3 thoughts on “There’s Bitchy and There’s Old-lady Bitchy

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s