April 9, 2011 § Leave a comment
(I am going to write this post in the style of Nicholas, because 1. I like him and 2. I saw him at the grocery store right after it happened and it made me start thinking like he writes. I do that. Is that weird? Anyway.)
Today, I’m at the grocery store, or really the produce-market-cum-organic-and-gourmet-foods store that is near my house. I’m post pajamas but pre-real clothes, which means I have on stretchy pants, my sister’s cardigan from her 9th grade production of The Pajama Game, and a sparkly headband. I am perusing the citrus section when a tiny woman with gray hair stares me down.
“Mercy! You don’t have any fat on you, do you?”
I kind of blink and smile. “Um…nope!” I say cheerily. I feel an instant shot of pep to my ego, especially considering I have just spent an hour whining to my mother on the phone about how I’m so very sure that I am going to balloon comically outward as a result of a side-effect-enhanced appetite spike.
Her husband is toothless and eating candy. His beard is frizzy and gray and touches the middle of his chest. “Your whole family like that?”
I shrug. “Pretty much. My dad says I’m a bonerack.”
“A, um. A bonerack? Like, a rack of bones?” I have no idea why I brought up this strange word, and now I feel awkward. “I should probably eat more sweet potatoes.” I drop two tubers into a plastic bag.
“When’s your birthday?” he asks me.
“December,” I say.
His wife comes around from his other side, her fist extended. She’s wearing a huge diamond ring. “C’mere,” she says, and I tap my hand to hers.
“She’s December fourth,” he explains.
“Oh,” I say. “A fellow Sagittarean.”
He nods and smiles at me. “Here,” he says, offering me a foil-wrapped piece of chocolate. “Happy birthday.”
“Thanks,” I say.
“You have a good day!” she says.
“You too!” I say, and I mean it.