The Grocery List

by Lubrican & Stormy Weather

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Chapter Five

Wednesday morning, August 22nd {Bob}

When I got to work, I tried to concentrate on drawing perfect lines, spaced perfectly, in perfect scale. I was good at this, and rarely made mistakes, but I was distracted. I had a dog that belonged in a doggy asylum, and a peter that was worn out from its interaction with my hand. When I got up in the morning, and looked at it, it lay there, limp and exhausted. If it could have whined, it would have.

"Don't look at me like that," it would say. "I'm doing more than my part. You're supposed to find me a nice, warm pussy to slide into, where there are no calluses, except maybe a nice sensitive G-spot, and I'll be all warm and comfy when I spurt."

"I'm trying!" I'd snarl at it.

"Well try harder!" it would yelp. "I'm tired of Mother Palm, and her five daughters!"

"Well, you're lucky to get to spit at all, you ungrateful wretch!" I'd shout back at it.

"And if you're going to keep abusing me like that," it would say, ignoring me, "at least get a softer tissue. I'm getting rug burns from the cheap stuff you wipe me with!"

That's when I'd stuff the ungrateful little prick into my pants, where he could sulk … and would … all day long.

I know, I know … a sane man wouldn't have conversations with his penis. That's my life, folks. Take heed. When that special girl comes along, don't give in to your insecurities. Go for the gusto! Grab for that gold ring!

I know what I'm talking about here.

Her name was Ruth Ann, and I was madly in love with her. She had curly brown hair, and sparkling blue eyes, and dimples on her cheeks. When I looked at her, I felt all gooey inside. She professed undying love for me too, and when she kissed me, I thought I had died and gone to Heaven.

But, I was insecure. I didn't think I had it in me to make a home for her, and keep her happy for the rest of her life. So I let things drift apart. It wasn't like I broke up with her. I just let it wither on the vine. A year later she was kissing Jimmy Hoskins, and didn't know I was alive. I'd been regretting it for two decades, and had been looking for another Ruth Ann ever since.

I hadn't found one yet, but I had her grocery list. I was sure of that. I was going to find her if it killed me. And I wasn't going to make the same mistake I'd made with Ruth Ann.

You may think I'm being too hard on myself. You're probably saying "Shit, man, you were only eight years old. Give yourself a break here!" But I'm telling you. I knew she was the one, eight or not, and I should have listened to my heart.

I'm not going to make that mistake again.

Wednesday morning, August 22nd [Chris]

When we left the cabin I'd used up the ten legal pads on my way to another hit with my readers and was feeling good about life and men. I decided to swing by the post office to pick up my mail and then go by Grandma's. She would be finished with her yoga by the time I got there and I'd take her out for breakfast and then we'd hit the thrift stores to see what we treasures we might find. Grandma is determined to be on Antiques Road Show some day with one of those crazy finds that costs her nothing and ends up being worth a fortune. Personally, I think she just wants a chance to hug and kiss Leigh and Leslie Keno.

Grandma is the only one I know who watches Antiques Road Show and tells whoever is in the room how some of the appraisers don't know diddly-squat. Then she addresses the people who own the items she feels have been appraised too low and says things like "Go to them Keno boys for a second opinion. They'll steer you right."

"I'll get some typing done this afternoon," I commented to Lady who was stretched across the back seat -- the only position she was allowed when riding. "Then we can head over to the park for the practice game."

A couple of years back, I'd read an article on where to find the best guys and one of them suggested getting involved with sports. They suggested joining a local softball team, stating that men there are active, fun-loving, and spend their spare time doing something other than drinking and carousing. "Men love sports, and you love men. So run those bases, girl!"

Fortunately, I'd played softball in high-school and college. Thus, during the tryouts, I was spared several embarrassing moments that several women who obviously read the same article were not. One lady threw the bat and hit the pitcher, then on the next swing tossed it down the third base line and over the fence almost taking out a section of coaches who were observing the practice game they'd set up. When her third swing almost took out the umpire, it was gently suggested that her talent lay in other areas.

Another lady hit the ball but then took off to third base rather than first. Once that was straightened out, I figured she would do okay, but when I hit the ball long enough for a double, which meant she could have made it to third, she tried to slide into second base, but missed, taking out the second baseman who was too shocked to get out of the way. The infielder, who was a married guy, wasn't hurt too badly -- just some scrapes and bruises -- but the poor lady who did all the needless sliding broke her ankle. I heard one of the other ladies tell her that maybe she would get a nice handsome doctor who was single.

A couple of hours later, and couple of hundred moments that would make the Three Stooges proud, the coaches assigned anyone who could play, or play half-decent, on various teams which were already established and needed players.

Not all of the teams were co-ed, and when one lady was chosen for an all female team, I heard her mumble, "All this sweat for nothing." There were a few others who expressed similar feelings when chosen for female teams. And when I got chosen for a co-ed team, I felt several daggers come my way. I couldn't figure out why. I mean the teams would play against each other so there would be men and women on the field for some of the games. Not to mention, men being in the stands. After all, as the article pointed out, men like to watch women. Besides that, I was on a team made up of nuns and a couple of priests.

Anyway, we play April through September, practicing a couple of times a week and playing games mostly on Saturday. I love every moment. Softball and the AA fiasco are two of the best things I've ever done that didn't turn out as I'd expected.

I get fan mail forwarded through my publisher. They save it up and then send it to me every couple of weeks, which can overload me sometimes. Today was the day for the load and I knew I'd spend most of the next day reading and responding to mail. I always took the time to respond personally to each letter. If people could take the time out of their day to write me a note, I could do the same for them. Of course, if I ever reached the point of getting hundreds of the things in a month, I might have to change my philosophy, but 'til then I could do my thing.

I was about ten minutes from Grandma's when a siren went off behind me, nearly giving me a heart attack. I'd been talking to Lady about going to Piggly Wiggly the next day to give my special grocery list another shot and watching the road ahead of me. I'd only just glanced in my rear view mirror a few seconds before I heard the blast behind me.

Cursing and glancing up, I saw the cop car with flashing lights. I slowed-up but no effort was made to go around me, so I pulled over and rolled down my window. Seconds later I said, "Son of a bitch," and felt my cheeks flaming as Officer Huntley grinned at me.

"Good Morning, Miss Bryant."

He'd removed his cap, mussing up his sandy-brown hair and he looked absolutely dreamy -- even if he was a royal pain in the butt.

"Officer Huntley," I said, rather grimly.

His dimples deepened and laughter sparkled in his green eyes.

"In another hurry, are we?"

There was no way in hell I'd been speeding. I spent my life going five miles below the limit -- other than last Tuesday when things went to hell for me. But I held my tongue and simply responded, "No, Sir."

"Would you care to join me for breakfast, then?"

Wednesday morning, August 22nd {Bob}

I managed to stop thinking about Ruth Ann, and tried firmly to think about things other than my dream woman. It was beginning to affect my work.

I did pretty well, actually. When I'm drawing, it's like I'm in my own little world, where I am the lord of wind and sea. Actually, it's line and eraser, but you know what I mean. I get so into it, in fact, that it could explain why I have such a miserable social life. I mean who wants to go out with a guy who does pencil sketches of walls all day long?

But it wouldn't do to get fired. It's hard to go looking for Miss Right if you have to look for work instead.

Wednesday morning, August 22nd [Chris]

Taking a bite of cantaloupe gotten from the breakfast buffet at Kathy's Cafe, I watched Lady playing with a couple of younger kids -- a boy and a girl -- who were wearing braces on their legs. She would run around them and then go in to kiss their faces. They were all having the time of their lives and I saw their mothers wiping tears away a few times.

Having determined Officer Huntley wasn't an alien in disguise -- I asked him and he assured me he wasn't -- I agreed to have breakfast with him, knowing if I didn't Grandma wouldn't let me hear the end of it for the rest of my days.

We were in Brookside Park, where he'd suggested we eat breakfast since Lady was with me, which gained him a hundred points in my book. He got three hundred more for picking up the kids and riding them around on his shoulders before sitting down with me at a table a few yards away from where the kids were.

"They have Muscular Dystrophy," Officer Huntley said as he took a swallow of his water. "They were diagnosed last year."

"Dad's mom died from Lou Gehrig's disease when I was ten," I said. "She was a fantastic artist and held several shows a year where all the proceeds went to Jerry's Kids."

"Did she pass her gift on to you?"

Smiling, I shook my head. "My older sisters Paula and Lacey got that. Mine came from Mom's dad Grandpa Sparks. I'm a writer."

"Bill Sparks the columnist?"

Grandpa, who also wrote a series of mysteries set during the 1930s, had written a column for twenty-five years in The Banner, the same paper in which Evan's proposal was printed. He'd written about family life and other things catching his fancy in a similar fashion to Garrison Keillor.

"The one and only," I replied.

"His Tom and Edith Blanchard series is one of the best. I have all of them in first editions and have read them at least half a dozen times."

The Blanchards were the husband and wife team in his books. Tom was a pastor in a small Southern town where his wife Edith managed to stumble across dead bodies every which way she turned. Grandpa had written the final and thirty-fifth book for them a year and a half before he was diagnosed with Alzheimer's.

"He got a kick out of me using Edie Blanchard as my pen name for my romance novels."

He stared at me. "You're the Edie Blanchard?"

"For the past six years."

"My sister has every one of your books. She'll freak when I tell her I ate breakfast with you."

"And lunch," I reminded him, grinning.

Wincing, he blushed and said, "I'm sorry for being such a jerk. I was only going to flirt with you and then got so nervous I shifted into my tough cop mode. Then, I was actually only teasing about charging you with bribery at lunch and well -- you know what happened."

I giggled and we ate in companionable silence until he said, "Would you like to go to dinner Friday?"

My brain over-loaded and my mouth opened and said, "A real date?"

Chuckling, he replied, "I think that's what it's still called."

I was telling him I'd love to when his radio went off. Telling me he'd call me tonight, he began speaking to the dispatcher as he ran toward his car.

"Holy cow," I said half an hour later to Lady as we made our way to pick up Grandma for shopping. "A real goodness to living date with a drop-dead hunk. Think I should write an article about how I got a date driving to Grandma's?"

Thursday afternoon, August 23rd {Bob}

The intelligent part of my brain said I was engaging in lunacy, but I tried the supermarket surveillance program one more time.

I know I was supposed to forget about her, but I couldn't, okay?

I got a near miss. I was hanging around the black olives again, trying to look inconspicuous, and saw a woman turn into the aisle. I checked her left hand ... no ring, and then looked in her basket. My heart lurched when I saw a can of whipped cream lying in the bottom of the cart, and a little green plastic bucket of fresh strawberries up where a kid could ride. Right next to them, though, was a package of short bread cakes ... you know, the little round ones, with a depression in the center, for the strawberries and whipped cream. Obviously, she intended to make strawberry short cake, and my heart settled back down. I checked her butt as she pushed her cart on down the aisle. No dog hairs. Bandit goes with me lots of places, and whenever I'm not in the car, he curls up on my seat. I always have dog hairs on my back side. My dream woman took her dog everywhere too, at least in my imagination.

It struck me like a bolt out of the blue! Her dog! While she was in the store, for her regular Thursday shopping trip, her dog ... her big dog ... would be in the car!

I suddenly had a plan C!

It wasn't until I got out of the store, and surveyed the hundreds of cars in the parking lot, that I realized how significant a task I had set for myself. And, it wasn't until I had walked up and down three rows of cars, peering inside each one, that I realized I hadn't even looked at the face of the woman in the store ... the unmarried one, with the strawberry shortcake ingredients. Two more rows later I realized I'd been checking even the cars with the windows up, which couldn't be hers, because that would be bad for her dog in the heat.

I also realized something else that day. You think, when you're walking to and from your car, that nobody notices you. Oh, sure, they move out of your way and might glance your way briefly, but they don't really notice you.

Unless you're a good looking girl, anyway.

I digress.

The point is that people notice you a lot more than you think. At least they do when you're cruising the parking lot, peering into cars. The nice policeman who came to ask me what the hell I was doing looking in all the cars said that they got four separate calls about "my behavior."

"I was just looking for a dog," I said, holding my hands where he could see them. He was very insistent about that.

"A dog," he repeated.

"Yeah, you know, big furry thing ... goes 'Arf Arf!' a lot."

They must screen police recruits, to make sure they have no sense of humor at all.

Anyway, once we got past all that, and he calmed down a little, I had to try to explain why I was looking for a dog I'd never seen, in a car I didn't know what looked like. While I was getting out my driver's license, I got the list out too, and showed it to him. I thought that him, being a guy, would help. I mean this was a mystery, right? And cops love mysteries ... right?

Turns out they don't.

"You're kidding me," he said, after I explained.

"No, really!" I said earnestly. "I'm just trying to find my true love."

"You're stalking a woman you don't even know?" asked the cop, incredulous.

"I'm not stalking her!" I objected. "I'm just trying to meet her!"

He started looking around, like I had cohorts hiding behind cars, getting ready to jump him or something. Then he looked at me again.

"I'm being Punk'd," he said. "That's what this is, right? The guys on the force set me up to look stupid, right?" He looked around again. "Where's the camera? I'll kill those guys!"

He got really surly when he found out he really wasn't being Punk'd. He even made me sit in the back of his car, while he talked about me on the radio to some people. But, it turned out I hadn't actually broken any laws, at least none that they could think of, and they're the experts, right? So he had to let me go.

"Don't look in people's cars any more," he said gruffly.

"Why not?" I asked. "It's obviously not against the law."

I'm a draftsman. I like things neat and clean. I also don't know when to quit, apparently.

"Look, buddy," said the man in uniform. "You're making people nervous. They think you're trying to steal a car. For all I know you are trying to steal a car, and came up with the most cockamamie alibi I ever heard. So I'm telling you this. I'm going to keep an eye on you, and if you so much as spit gum on the ground, I'm going to arrest you for littering. Now, what's in the bag?"

I looked at the plastic bag hanging from my hand.

"Olives," I said.

"You know, some people put heavy things in socks, and then swing them as a weapon," said the policeman, suspiciously.

"Give me a break!" I moaned. "They're right there on the list! I'm just trying to find this woman! I'm not casing cars, and I'm not lurking around, waiting to assault somebody with two cans of olives!" I got righteously indignant. "I'm just a citizen, pursuing happiness, like the constitution says I can!"

"You're a pain in my ass," said the patrolman. "That ought to be against the law." He looked at me craftily. "You got a receipt for those olives?"

"Now that's just harassment!" I said, probably a little too loudly.

We were starting to draw a crowd. I don't know what it is about people that makes them want to watch a law enforcement officer harassing a poor innocent guy like me, but I think the police are all actors at heart, because as his audience grew, he began to posture more and more, until he was yelling at me to calm down and I was yelling that I was calm, and in the process of that my bag, with two cans of black olives swung sideways and hit one of the bystanders, which was perceived by the over-eager lawman to be an assault, which ended me up at the police station, in handcuffs, standing in front of a booking Sergeant, who was not impressed with either me or the stalwart protector of the innocent who had dragged me there.

I think the thing that saved me the most was that the lady I had hit with the olives was there too, and was just as disgusted with the cop who interrupted both of our routines as I was. When it finally got all sorted out, they had to let me go, which was good. I was pretty nervous there for a few minutes. Bureaucracies don't just grind to a halt, once they get a load of steam up, and I had visions of trying to explain to whoever I was going to call that I needed to make bail.

Come to think of it, I didn't have any idea who I could call, to come get me. I need more friends, apparently.

But, they let me go. I apologized to the lady I'd hit with the olives, and she said it was all a mix-up, and not to worry about it. She said she was going to write a letter to the editor about it, but I told her it wasn't worth the trouble because they didn't print the really good letters.

Mr. Nice Policeman is all too happy to give you a ride to the station. They don't carry outbound freight, though, and I had to call a cab to get back to the store.

Mr. Nice Policeman apparently had a vindictive streak. When I couldn't find my truck, and went inside to call the police, to report it had been stolen while I was "in custody", I found out that the cops had told them I wasn't coming back for "a while". They had my fricking truck towed! Can you believe it?

I sure hope this woman is worth it, when I finally find her.

Thursday afternoon, August 23rd [Chris]

Between talking to my sisters about my upcoming date, which included Harmonia's prediction I was safe to go out -- Lacey provided this service as always -- and talking with Grandma who wanted to know all about my phone call with James the previous night -- and listening to Dad tell me I should be careful because James sounded a bit like a Pit-Bull and asking me once, again, if I was sure I didn't want to fight for Evan -- I didn't get started on the mail until around ten-thirty. I worked 'til around two and decided to go out for a late lunch and to find something new to wear for my date.

So after purchasing a silky red blouse which buttoned and had a slightly revealing neck-line, along with a new black lacy bra and matching panties, I decided to try my luck with my shopping list, which I'd rewritten.

Yes, I was going out with James, but Grandma always says not to put all your eggs in one basket. I had no way of knowing how things would go with James and wanted to keep my options open until I knew for sure if I'd actually found my toad ... or not.

The store, which is like a three ring circus on good days, was crazier than usual. I wondered if there was a holiday that I had forgotten about. The aisles were jammed with carts -- almost wall to wall -- and, as I maneuvered my way around, I began to think I'd missed an Emergency Warning announcing no more groceries could be bought until the end of the year.

It was so bad, I abandoned my plan to stick to following the list in the order I'd put the items. I would be in the store this time the next day doing that. So, leaving my love life in the hands of fate, I picked up whatever items I could reach as I was lucky enough to reach them. Half an hour had gone by the time I even managed to get whipped cream to go with the strawberries I'd managed to nab before getting almost run over by a mob of a hundred grandmas. Okay, it wasn't that many, but when you see shopping carts coming in at you from all directions, it's easy to inflate the estimate by an extra one or two.

There'd been a hunky guy reaching for a can of the sweet goo just as I reached the whipped cream, but he was wearing a wedding band and that left me the choice of a teenager who looked like he played in one of the crazier rock bands (his hair was spiked and dyed green, orange and purple and his ears looked absolutely painful with all the piercings) and an old guy who was taking the cans off the shelf and shaking them and singing I Wanna Be Like You from Disney's Jungle Book. He was having a great time dancing around like the Monkey King.

Smiling at him, I grabbed a can and tossed it in the bottom of my buggy. I then spotted the display of short bread cakes and decided I would have strawberry shortcake when Grandma, Harmonia, Lacey and Paula came to lunch Saturday. Grandma had invited herself and the others, so they could get the low-down on my date and I had been given dessert duty. Grandma and Lacey would probably give me a lecture about not baking, but they would eat it because food was never wasted in our family. Grandma was a stickler about that.

I was of the mind to go home right then and there, but something pulled me toward the aisle where the black olives are located. I really thought I would hit pay dirt since I was being compelled so strongly to go to the olives -- I swear on Grandma's head I was being pulled there by an unseen force -- and I was the most excited I'd been in ages.

Unfortunately, my toad wasn't to be seen. His well endowed body wasn't standing there waiting for me to make a connection with him instantly as my brown eyes gazed up into his bright blue sparkling pools. I couldn't even drool over his cute butt in his blue jeans and resist running my fingers through his longish black hair.

All I could do was listen to three women discuss the latest episode of The Young and the Restless, while their toddlers jabbered at each other about mommies being so silly; and observe this geeky guy, with glasses, black shaggy hair, and a pocket protector, trying to decide which two cans of black olives to buy. He would pick up two cans and then put them back and get a couple of more cans. It was easy to understand why he wasn't married. How hard is it to choose a can of olives? I checked for a wedding band -- even if I'd discounted him because he wasn't my toad. A habit is a habit.

Knowing I'd missed my toad by just seconds, I pushed my buggy on down the aisle and decided to go ahead and head for home. There was no sense in hanging around today. Things were just too screwy for love. I did make a side dash for a bag of chips, thinking it wouldn't take me long, but, by the time I got back to the checkout line, there were five carts in front of mine.

The checkout lane was murder. I only had a few items, but the express lanes were open for everyone because of the number of people in the store. It felt like half the city was in this one Piggly Wiggly. Maybe it was the full moon or something. Opening a Family Circle taken from the rack at the front of the store, I began reading an article about raising kids. Two hours later, well maybe not that many, but it sure felt like it, I headed out of the store with my things, including the magazine, which I'd managed to read almost all of. Grandma would get a kick out of some of the ideas in the article and would love telling me how they did things back in her day.

When I got out of the store, I saw a crowd of people around a policeman in the parking lot. I realized the policeman was James and considered going over to see what the fuss was about, but then decided he might not want me there. Besides, I needed to get home and get some more letters answered. I could ask James about it when he called. As I took a step toward my car, the crowd shifted a little and I spotted the guy I'd seen with the black olives. Mr. Geek was waving his hands around and James looked ready to hit him over the head with his baton.

"I knew he was a strange one," I said to myself. "All that fuss over which olives to take, and he didn't even have a shopping cart!"

Well, I suppose not having a cart wasn't so weird, but being arrested was something else. Pushing on to my Camry, I thanked my lucky stars I hadn't asked him to move so I could get some olives. Who knows what a man like that might do suddenly? I might never have gotten to have gone out with James and possibly live happily ever after.

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