Grocery Shopping Day.

It's always something. I rarely seem to be able to go to the store, buy what I think I need, forget six things, pay for my purchases and leave like normal people. Don't get me wrong. There have never been super spies repelling from the ceiling, intent on taking over the local market as a base for their nefarious doings. I have yet to be faced with a horde of bloodthirsty vampires or tax collectors. I haven't really ever had to fight for my life in order that I might gain sustenance for the week.

But there is always some small annoyance that makes the whole process, well...kinda silly. I have stood in line, precariously balancing a two ton container of kitty litter, while some dude lays on the conveyor belt. (he did have the good grace to apologize so I let it go.) I have had a can of mousse inadvertently flung at me by the store manager, necessitating some fairly impressive avoidance maneuvers on my part. Total strangers have spilled their guts to me. I'm not talking, "Gee, I have a blister and it's killing me." I'm talking, "My husband just left me, my son was in a horrible motorcycle accident yesterday and my hair seems to be falling out."

I'm a magnet for the silly. I call to the needy. The Sheep is something of a siren song for the clumsy, socially inept and boundary challenged. It is my lot in this life. I make the best of it.

Given that tomorrow's to-do list includes a date with the surgeon and the demise of The Mole Of Disturbing Dimensions, I thought that I might get the shopping done tonight. I'm not anticipating any real difficulty, but the idea of heading out after having any kind of "procedure" seemed risky. I don't mind sporting a Band-Aid or anything...but I don't know what this entails and would rather just head home in the event that MODD relocation comes with swaddling in bandages. Call me vain...because it's true.

I left school a bit later than usual as I'd been doing some planning for my absence tomorrow and headed my weary self in the direction of my local market. I'm tired. I'm not exactly at my most "observant" when I'm tuckered out. It took me a minute to realize that there was something amiss at the entrance. At first, I took the hulabaloo to be the result of a few local seniors stopping at the doors for a little chewing of the fat. I steeled myself for some Academy Award winning sighing and eye-rolling. I mean, after all, why actually attempt to resolve the situation when you can be put-out and childish?

And yet, there seemed to be more to this little scene than a cursory observation might glean. The doors were closed. We were all a bit stymied by this. In our world, the magic doors open upon our approach. No one really knew how to handle this. We did what people do best in this situation and just stood there, hopefully awaiting the arrival of someone "in authority."

Long story, short, this is how The Sheep and ten or so senior citizens ended up standing outside the local grocery store watching no less than five managerial types fight with an automatic door that would not open. Never in the history of mankind have so many dudes in bad ties all converged to not solve a situation. And, I am ashamed to admit, not a one of us in the helpless gaggle of would-be consumers had the wherewithal to go try the other entrance to the store.

Hope springs eternal here in the great state of Maine. Until, that is, we are told to disperse and go try another means of entry.

Several passes by the door during my shopping excursion allowed me to view the bringing of the drill and the removal of the door for easier access and eventual repair. It also allowed me to overhear how "the guy" had just been there to fix it earlier in the day. Nice job.

As if that weren't enough, I had another "incident" upon leaving the store. I was even more tired at that point and didn't really react to the words, "Hey, whatcha makin' me for dinner?" It took me a minute. I had to process this. There, standing before me in all her glory and wearing a genuine Sheep knit scarf I beheld:

Amy The World's Greatest Stylist.

The one with whom I have an appointment on Saturday. The one who I was going to call and reschedule the appointment as I didn't finish her holiday handwarmers. The one that I specifically wrote about calling and discussing the rescheduling with in a post on this very blog mere days ago. The one I sort of forgot to call. Yeah...that Amy.

We hugged and she expressed her regret over the amount of frozen pizza in my cart. I explained that I was having day surgery tomorrow and that I really didn't think I'd be up to cooking. I put on my "brave little soldier" face and said that I would do everything within my power to make our appointment. She, being a kind and nurturing sort, told me to call her and reschedule. She told me that everything would be fine and not to worry about a thing.

And, standing there in the face of forgiveness that only a stylist can bestow, I caved. I sang like a canary on crack and confessed that I had not finished her gift yet. I am weak. You have to know her...you'd break, too. Trust me. She laughed it off, but I now live in great shame.

The grocery store just never seems to work out well for me. Seriously...

SA