Inadvertently Flirting in the Freezer Bag Aisle

ex1970fe_ins_022I was in a discount store the other day picking up essentials I really didn’t need.  Among these things was plastic zipper freezer bags.  The one gallon size.  It had been troubling me for many months, maybe a couple years, that I didn’t have any at home.  Randomly, such as the middle of the night, this distressed me.  I would wake up from whatever I was doing:  “I still don’t have any plastic zipper freezer bags!”

Zipper plastic freezer bags is the sort of thing I put on lists, especially shopping lists, often with a side note, “Don’t forget.”  Certainly if I would remember the list, I would remember the bags, but not necessarily.  Anyway, let’s just get to the point.  I have been out of zipper lock freezer bags for a long time — years, perhaps — and it was time to restock.

So now we’re back at the discount store, a place called Target, and I am filling my basket with pens, candles, and light bulbs when I get to the Freezer Bag Aisle.  I am about to fulfill a destiny when, from the other end of the aisle, a young woman and two toddling kids charge in my direction.  Like me, they’re apparently in a hurry.  Mom’s in a hurry to get the shopping done, the kids are in a hurry to touch everything that is three-feet from the floor…think of a long strip of toddler goo painted by sticky fingers about hip-high wherever you look the next time you’re in a store.  It’s there.

I don’t want to be delayed in finally achieving my goal, right?  It is right there, literally within reach, so I move directly toward the Ziploc brand and grab a box of 40 gallon size double-zipper freezer bags.  I notice mom, on the other hand, reaching for the very same product, but a generic.  She does this instinctively.  Not even looking.  She looks at me though.  Then she looks at my Ziplocs.  Then me again.  And smiles.

target-924x462I see the “Compare” sign on the rack of generics.  I compare.  The Ziplocs are about a dollar more and packaged in a prettier box, but…well, the young mother is kind of cute, too (almost said a “prettier box” but that might not pass), so, like a goof, I quickly restocked my Ziplocs and too-quickly reached for the generics, inadvertently shouldering the young mother in what felt like a young mother’s breast.

When I straightened up to apologize she playfully scolded, “Oh hello!”  I just said “sorry” which was made worse by breaking eye contact and seeking the ring finger, left hand.  No ring.  And in that moment she’s gotten away, pushing the little ones ahead to another aisle where they can sticky smack the canned fruit or cold medicine or whatever.  Around the corner, with a deliberate cock of the hips, goes my Single Mother, her zipper freezer bags, and best mom breast my should has squashed in days.

Not to worry.  I prefer to linger in the aisles of the local grocery anyway.  When I shop for avocados, I do so with purpose and not by chance.  I have a latent plan which I can expect to be called to duty on the spot without clumsy shoulder gropes and a stammered sorrys.  I buy a lot of groceries.  I’m on my game there.

Now, while I take a short nap and decide what I will do with the rest of today, why don’t you scroll down and read my post about the dysfunctional, drive-you-nuts Minnesota DFL?  Or scroll further through the posts and find something even better.  When you do, tell your friends and family.  Post it on Facebook, Twitter, and Pinterest.  Send it to the Huffington Post and the New York Times.  I’ll be back shortly…

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