Have I ever mentioned how I don’t drive? Yes, well…
Last week while at the store, during the crazy heat wave we had, I had about forty minutes left on my own to get a few grocery items before picking up Madame from school. The term was ending, and I needed provisions for the pre-school picnic the next day, blah, blah, blah, and you know how it is when you can’t bear the idea of having to go BACK to the store for anything… what looked like a small amount in my cart turned out to be nearly impossible to carry home.
I had 3 bottles of wine, 3 litres of milk, 2 litres of ice cream, 24 popsicles, 12 fudge-cicles, 4 cans of frozen juice concentrate, plus a jar of salsa, some cheese, chips, lemons, and about ten other small items I just couldn’t seem to leave at the store. Oh, and I had my purse, too.
Because I possess Hurculean strength buried deep, deep within my biceps (it’s obvious, isn’t it?) the two massive bags of groceries didn’t seem unmanageable until roughly forty-eight paces out the door, into the punishing heat. My trap muscles started to burn, and I contemplated getting into a taxi, but then thought, that’s crazy… you’re eight blocks from home… it’ll cost, like, nine dollars and the guy will think you’re a total lose-bag… you can make it.
I was wearing these short-shorts that day, and I got a honk from some parks & rec guys in a pick up truck offering me a ride, but they weren’t my neighbourhood parks & rec dudes – these were stranger-dudes. Everyone knows getting a ride from guys like that is, um… unseemly, at best. So, I just smiled and soldiered on.
I stopped at the traffic lights and set the bag on the pavement while I waited for the light to change, but didn’t take my digits off the handles – they were gonna be permanently bent into claw-like shapes anyway, so there was no sense in trying to straighten them out, the pain of it all killing me softly. They’ll be useful for scaring the children with, I thought. (This is me looking on the bright side.)
By the time I rounded the corner onto my street, my arms were quivering, and like a distance runner nearing the finish line, I picked up the pace a little bit and forced myself not to give up. And I willed myself not to cry, either. It was hard, yo.
In the door… don’tstopdon’tstopdon’tstop… up the stairs… into the kitchen I finally dropped all the stuff, feeling triumphant! And, feeling like Jello!!
I took Tylenol to ease the ache in my arms and upper back for the next two days.
Never again, lord. I have to stop doing this.
Today while at the store, and feeling uncomfortably fatigued by the two bottles of wine in my purse *ahem* I started checking out wheels, and settled for this lady:
She’s charcoal black with a white and red check making up the plaid pattern. She’s kinda jaunty in a preppy sort of way… of my choices? I wasn’t coming home with a leopard pattern or the zebra print. Or the brown one. Nay, I reckon she’ll do just fine.
My aching muscles and I are thrilled to the bone. And now I can save my Hurculean strength for other worthwhile pursuits, such as shaking the children when they’re naughty. And for squeezing lemons and such for glorious drinky-drinks when it’s hot. You know – the necessary things.
Got wheels? Tell me I’m not the only
old lady one out there…