This morning I ran out to get the Sunday S.F.Chronicle, like I do every week. The sun was shining, the oranges woman was not at her corner (she’s at church, I’ll bet), and my favorite grocery store checker was on duty.
I filled up my cart with everything on my list and turned down the canned fruits and vegetables aisle to get some vegetarian chili for my adult child who lives at the other end of my small house.
Then my favorite song (R & B) came on over the speakers.
Bum . . . bum, bum, bum.
Now I’m dancing down the aisle (no one else nearby), bum . . . bum, bum, bum, I’m getting a little fancier with my footwork, bum . . . bum, bum, bum. Bum . . . bum, bum, bum.
What you think, ah! (I still have the aisle to myself).
What you feel, now (I wonder if the manager is watching me on closed screen TV).
What you know, ah! (I know I make myself laugh).
To be real!
I am now in front of soups, putting them in my cart to the beat of the song.
What you think, ah! (Here’s an all veggie soup).
What you feel, now (I think I’ll get two).
What you know, ah! (I could get Chicken Gumbo for Sloppy Josefina’s).
To be real! (Nah! The onion will make me burp).
Uh-oh. Someone has turned onto the aisle, and I’m not alone.
Ooh, your love’s for real now
You know that your love is my love
My love is your love
Our love is here to stay.
I am done shopping but I can’t check out because I want to chat with Gloria, and I can’t do that AND dance to my song at the same time, so I keep dancing, not caring what the older woman whose cart was blocking mine in the next aisle five minutes ago, the one I had exchanged pleasantries with, thinks of me.
The song is getting closer to the end, and I’m stuck in front of the maraschino cherries as I finish rocking out in Lucky’s at 9:26 in the morning.
The manager comes on over the PA system and says, “Attention, Shoppers, senior citizen dancing in Aisle 6. We appreciate your patience while we attend to this matter.”
Just kidding. No one said anything, not even the lady who was now headed to the checkout behind me.
I get in line behind two people as the song wraps up with the famous trumpet finish. Now I’m ready to chat.
Gloria and I speak in Spanish, then English, then Spanish. Gloria yawns and I ask her, “Como se dice yawn in español?”
She tells me it’s bostezar, and now I’ve learned a new Spanish word.
I realize that I am entertaining myself while doing errands, because no one else is doing it for me. I constantly have a running monologue in my head. I was surprised to find out that not everyone has that to keep them company.
It’s like the cartoon in the 60s where the devil sits on one shoulder of Bugs Bunny? Elmer Fudd? And the angel sits on the other shoulder, both speaking and giving advice to Popeye? Olive Oil?
Instead of devil and angel, for me it’s OCD voice on one shoulder, telling me what to fear, and normal voice on the other shoulder, telling me it’s going to be okay.
Either way, it’s always telling me to dance.
FIRST DATE, WORST DATE EVER! 