"She's got the night off," he told me blithely as he continued to ring up my groceries.
You could tell I looked and felt crestfallen. She has gotten to be my buddy -- always so glad to see me. She always goes extra gracious miles and beyond for me when I shop at the Pig. The manager last night was a stern looking older black lady who probably wouldn't have given me the time of the day.
"You forgot your mayonnaise," dad urgently said behind me as if in a panic. "I'll run and go get it. I want to get me some bananas, too!"
The cashier continued to ring me up. I had told my father to be sure and remind me. We can't have grilled chicken breast sandwiches without mayonnaise for my special sauce. My George Foreman grill is going to get some good use tonight. I am going to soak the chicken breasts in a light brine for an hour and then grill them up and serve them on some hoagie rolls.
Earlier, it was 9 PM when my father called me and told me he was ready to go. I had begun to sweat so to speak in that the Pig closes at 10 PM. I hurried to the grocery store and got started shopping with my father following shortly behind me. He helped me pick out my frozen meals for the weekend.
"How is this Stouffer's lasagna?" he asked.
"Look at the price for that little box," I told my father.
It was $4.25 for that little frozen meal. Too rich for my blood. We ended up getting some Marie Callendar meals that were on sale for $2 dollars and some change.
I evoked my Auschwitz Mantra last night in that if I was a concentration camp victim, I would just love to wait for so long to then get some nutritious food to eat. I shouldn't really complain. My father is good to me and loves me. I lack for nothing. He can just be a pain in the ass at times.
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