I was biking to the grocery store on a Friday evening and I was feeling old. It was the second weekend in a row that I’d been scheduled to bartend the morning shifts at work. So it was also the second Friday night in a row that I was staying in. Last Friday I had watched a movie and then spent two hours scrubbing the floors in my apartment. This Friday I was making chili. And though I told myself I was staying in on a Friday because of my early Saturday shift, I also knew that several years ago nothing would have held me down on a free weekend night, and that’s why I was feeling old.
I pedaled hard uphill, pumping my old-lady legs as fast as I could. I arrived at the grocery store slightly sweaty. Surprisingly many people were shopping, but I cruised around them, grocery shopping with a purpose rather than meandering. I grabbed the last few ingredients that I needed for my chili and headed to the registers. I found the shortest line and slid my cart in.
I unloaded the cart quickly: avocado, onion, cilantro, molasses, soy sauce, and plain yogurt. Then, being the hippie that I am, I reached in my purse and pulled out my grocery bag. Kevin always teased me for bringing my own bags to the store, but reusing made me feel good about myself.
As I whipped out my bag, a small object freed itself from my purse and flung in to the air. As it passed over my cart and hit the leg of the guy in front of me, I realized in horror that it was a tampon. I realized also, as I stared down at the tanned muscular legs that had been my tampon’s target, that the guy in front of me was a total hunk. And here I was stuck behind my cart, blushing as he turned and looked down and saw my tampon sitting at his feet.
I blocked my face with my grocery bag, wondering if it would make me somehow invisible. Why hadn’t I used a basket instead of a cart? The only way I could get to the tampon before him would be if I pushed my cart into his body, knocking him out of the way. Instead I stood helpless as the guy bent and picked it up, and then turned to hand it to me. “I’m so, so, SO sorry,” I mumbled from behind my bag-shield.
He chuckled gallantly, and said, “It’s no problem. Really.”
He paid for his groceries and walked away. He was probably the kind of guy who would buy tampons for a girlfriend without squirming.
Though embarrassing as hell in real life, in a movie, this would be our cute meet.
Luckily, I already had a man who buys my tampons. So I called him and told him about my Friday night tampon flinging in the grocery store, and he laughed at me.