Push It

After I dropped our son off at his meeting, I stopped at the grocery store to pick up a gallon of milk and a big bag of rice. By myself, unusual for me. We have a new law, no plastic bags, but I rarely remember to take in my re-usable shopping bags. No big deal, I was only buying two things.

After pushing the cart outside, I juggled the milk and big bag of rice in my arms. The older guy ahead of me (older than me, that is), picked up the two paper bags out of his cart, pushed his cart in to the line-up at an angle and left it there. What was I supposed to do? I am fanatical about taking the carts to the drop off point, not leaving them in the parking lot to roll into someone's car or be in the middle of a parking spot. I tucked the rice under my arm, took a hold of my cart, swung it an angle and shoved it into his cart, pushing them both into the long line of carts in one swift move.

He shrugged at me, and said, "Guess you know how to do it."

Not like it was rocket science. But I smiled.

I turned to walk away. He said, "How is your husband?"

Thinking he mistook me for someone else, I nodded and walked on. He repeated, louder, "How is your husband?" He held his hands up, the grocery sacks hanging, and pushed them forward. "Do you push him around like that?"

I laughed. "Oh no. My husband is not one to be pushed around. By anyone, especially not by me."

 I don't think he believed me.




We were out shopping, stocking up on a buggy full of groceries. After my husband loaded it all in the car, I walked the cart over to the pipe corral and shoved it in, pushing it and several others all the way into the row, inside the frame. Like I always do.

As I walked back toward our car, he laughed, "So, how is your husband?"