I've Got a Secret

Today, I had a secret, a secret I was bursting to share. As I shopped in the Michael's craft store and the sweet elderly lady next to me confided, "I'm buying this stationery so that maybe my grandchildren will write me letters," I very nearly shouted out, "MY DAUGHTER IS IN LABOR!"

I bit down on my tongue, so as not to seem like a Shopping Loony. You know what I mean, right? Those crazies who pop up when you are quietly sifting through the sale racks at Robinson's May, or trying to find the perfect match to your dress fabric in the ribbon section of Jo-Ann's Fabrics. One moment, you are quietly absorbed in your shopping and in the next, the Shopping Loony invades your space.

"Oh, I really like that selection of colors you have there. I can't wear purple; it makes my teeth look yellow. My mother can wear purple though. She doesn't have any teeth. Well she does, but she only wears them to chew."

You murmur, "Uhmmm, thanks."

SL is undeterred by your barely-above-freezing manner.

"So, I'm making a remote control cozy for my mom. She says that when the temperature dips below 78 degrees, her buttons freeze up."

"Uhmmm...hmmm..." you mutter, as you sidle farther down the aisle.

SL follows you closely. Any closer, and you might have to explain to her that you are heterosexual.

"Personally, I say it's the ice cream."

(What? Oh, the hell with it. Who cares? Where the hell is the 1/2 inch navy grosgrain, anyway?)

You are nearly in the Styrofoam ball department, now. Still, IT advances...

"See, she has me scoop her up a big bowl of ice cream--she really likes the kind with walnuts, but the doctor says she shouldn't eat nuts on account of she gets these pockets in her colon, you know, that trap bits of food and stuff... Anyway................bzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz...................

You have stopped listening.

You know that she is still talking, because you can see her lips moving; the lips that you notice are edged with this whitish crud--oh god...

The navy grosgrain! At last! You escape to the cutting counter--but wouldn't you know it, the SL follows you.

"2-1/2 yards," you tell the cutter.

"So, what are you making?" says the SL.

The cutter looks up and smiles. "Oh, you're sisters, aren't you? I can tell! Are you making matching outfits?"

You die.