I'm Not Vern

So yesterday I had to go to the grocery store.

It’s normally not busy at all.

But yesterday....it was packed. I couldn’t understand why. It wasn’t payday.

Then I got excited.

Maybe they were having a sale!

I love sales.

I got inside and looked around. There was no sale.

So…what was everyone doing there?

I pulled my list out and started walking down the aisles. There were people everywhere! One old lady crashed her cart into the back of my ankles and called me Vern. She was all, “Vern, grab some green beans,” as she stared down at her list and I just quickly walked away with throbbing feet.

Who were all these people?

I swear, I usually always go grocery shopping on Tuesday and it’s never been that bad.

Was there a celebrity signing?

I craned my neck and didn’t see anyone.

I mean, I thought I spotted Michelle Duggar but it wasn’t her after all.

At least Tom wasn’t with me. Crowded areas make him nervous. And then he’ll start going into one of his rants where he’ll say things like, “There are too many people in the world. There should be a limit of 2 kids each and that’s it!”

I’m not a fan of crowds either but I deal with it.

I got crashed into two more times. But at least I wasn’t called Vern again.

As I was throwing hot dogs into the cart, an old lady saddled up beside me and was stretching to reach some sausage on the top shelf.

“Do you need help?” I asked kindly.

I thought she’d be all, “Oh, thank you! Young people rock!”

Instead she looked me up and down and went, “You’re no taller than I am! What help will you be?”

Oh.

Well.

For the record, I could have reached the top shelf. And if I couldn’t, I throw products at the item I want until it falls down. I’ve done this before. Or I swing my purse around until the thing I want is within my reach. My purse can be used as an oversized claw, you see.

Anyhow, a guy overheard the woman and went, “I’ll help you.”

But the woman glared at him and went, “You’re not tall either! Is this base full of short people or what?”

Goodness me. The guy actually looked like he wanted to throw the sausage at her. But instead he calmly reached over, grabbed the sausage she had been reaching for and handed it over.

“I’m tall enough,” he said, winking at her before he walked away.

I heard the old lady mutter, “You’re pretty short,” as I left.

Then came the long line. It was stretched to the back of the store.

Seriously, what was UP?

I found out my answer.

It turns out people were in a panic over the snowstorm that we’re supposed to have and they all rushed to the store for food.

I kept Natalie entertained by giving her my cell phone. One time she locked me out of it and I had no idea how to unlock it. I figured out how in the end but now I forget what I did.

When we finally made it to the register, I was relieved. And hungry. My stomach kept growling which is probably why I threw in that King Sized Butterfinger bar.

Mmmmm. Butterfinger.

The cashier recognized me and started cooing at Natalie, who promptly covered her face.

“Why does she always do that? She’s seen me plenty of times. It’s ME, darling!” the lady shouted as though this should mean something.

I wanted to say, “I don’t know, Lady. Maybe your blue hair throws her off. She doesn’t know if you’re a human being or a Smurf.”

“Looks like you’re making some good stuff,” the cashier said conversationally as she scanned my items.

I nodded. “Yup. My mother-in-law is coming to visit Friday for a few days.”

The cashier abruptly stopped and looked at me with round eyes. “Your mother-in-law? My sympathies.”

“Oh. No, it’s okay. I like my mother-in-law. We get along,” I added, because the cashier had recoiled when I had said that I liked my mother-in-law as though she had never heard such a thing.

“I don’t get along with mine,” the cashier said, resuming in scanning my things.

“That’s too bad,” I answered.

The cashier shrugged. “At least she lives in Florida. So she doesn’t come here often because heaven forbid if it were to snow. She’d flip out. Then she has this irritating yap yap dog that she refuses to leave and I’m sorry, I don’t want that thing running around the inside of my car.”

“Oh,” was all I could think of to say as I paid for the groceries with my debit card.

“Well, good luck with the visit. I know you said you guys get along but you just never know with mother-in-laws,” the cashier said, handing over my receipt.

“Everything will be great,” I assured her.

She didn’t look convinced.

But really. I’m looking forward on seeing my mother-in-law.

Did I mention that she’s a really good cook?

I imagine when Tom married me and figured out that I was an awful cook that he wanted to be like, “Erm. Can I have my Mom back?”