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Picked up at the grocery store?

So there I was looking over the chicken at the grocery store trying not to gasp aloud at the price, and doing my best surreptitious glancing around to spot the “club packs” and get one before anyone else does. There are never that many of them around and at least it saves a couple of dollars that way. Also looking, for something, is a gentleman named Stewart, who says hello and chats about the state of groceries and shopping in general. I return the conversation in kind; I’m polite like that. He is looking at me quite intently, then tells me that I am beautiful. I thank him simply; I am no longer a youngster who says “oh no, I am not” when someone pays me a compliment. Inside though, I am glad that I put on some makeup before leaving home. I don’t always do that when going out for groceries.
Encouraged in this way, he asks if I am married. No, I reply. Not married anymore. He very quickly tells me that he lives nearby and would love to go to dinner or a movie or something. Would I be interested? No, I politely answer. I am really flattered to be asked, but not dating or looking to date, thanks. He wants my number anyway, he says, in case I change my mind in a few months. Coffee perhaps, in the Spring. I thank him again for being so sweet, and meander off to finish my shopping with a light heart.

2 comments:

George Maciver said...

Not even a coffee in the Spring? *gasp* We writers sure love our own company eh? :)

Pam Robertson said...

We do George, it's true. That and having read enough books that are made of murder and mayhem!