Adventures in Grocery Shopping

Those of you who know me know that one of my least favorite things to do, besides folding clothes, is going shopping. Any kind of shopping, really. Armed with my list and my wallet, I make it a point to get into the store, get what I need, and get out before I lose what little is left of my humanity in the magazine aisle. Whilst some people believe in retail therapy as a way to get through the dark days, I firmly believe that shopping (for anything except gadgets for my camera…) is one of the seven deadly sins.

Today was my once every few weeks run to the store– for milk, bread, and fresh veggies. I usually have a month’s worth of food stocked in the kitchen and pantry, and go by a simple menu when it comes time to cook. Unfortunately, things like milk, bread, and veggies don’t last forever and I’m stuck with a quick trip to the store.

The trip today was memorable, albeit for only one reason. As I waited, not-to-patiently, in checkout, I had the extreme pleasure of waiting behind a dainty young woman with the number “69″ tattooed on the nape of her neck. In addition to the ‘digits’ she had holes in her earlobes large enough for a chipmunk to crawl comfortably through, and her panties (pink and flowery) were quite visible through the holes in her blue jeans.

A number of things came to mind while looking at this dainty little flower of feminine perfection.

I am not anti-tattoo. I have several myself, and occasionally contemplate getting another. Unfortunately, I am limited to the number of places a tattoo could go, as at 34 years of age I worry about the sag-ability factor of any tattoo I might choose to get. I am, however, anti stupid tattoos. Why the holy hell would someone get that tattooed on their body? Somewhat tongue in cheek, I wondered about the things that the number “69″ could represent. Barring the obvious, these are my conclusions.

This woman must be a fan of Lance Klusener. Perhaps she is a student of science who favors, above all, thulium. Perhaps her tastes run more toward Astronomy and Messier 69. Maybe, just maybe, she is a fan of semiprime numbers.

As I stood in line at the store, pondering the above (and more that I can’t write in this g-rated blog) I was given more of a glimpse into this interesting creature. It seems the cashier at the store had spent some quality time with my tattooed young flower at a recent party, and reminded her that she had a left a little bit of vodka behind when she was taken home, passed out drunk, by her friends. Why did this not surprise me?

A young mother with a small child, perhaps 5 years old, was in line behind me. As I started placing my groceries on the belt for check-out, I heard the child say, “Momma, what are those numbers on her neck?” Her mother, a little flustered, said, “I don’t know, Emily. I just don’t know.”