The first Wednesday of the month is Senior Day at Disco Kroger -- extra discounts for the geriatric set -- and a nice opportunity for those of us in need of Lenten mitzvahs to help folks unload their carts and load their cars and get things off high shelves. (We should all be doing this every day of the year.) In reality, let's tell it like it is: Senior Wednesdays are now a cruising mecca for the social security crowd.
The last time my mom visited on Senior Day, she came home all aflutter with her adventures of the day: "Why, I think this man was hitting on me," (the last part -- clearly scandalous -- was whispered).
[The DiscoKroger in Atlanta proudly retained its DiscoBall post renovation.]
We finally decided that the contents of mom's cart (filled with real food) combined with her oxygen tanks and lack of confinement to a Rascal -- somehow branded her as a catch. Clearly, she's self-sustaining and independent. She's mobile. She obviously has a good health plan (you should see all those oxygen tanks; the uninsured have to struggle along on air...like animals). And she can cook. What more could a man want? I'm surprised he didn't move in with us.
Hell yeah, my Mom is a catch. We Sullivan women don't come on the market all that often what with our fancy HMOs, our dental plans, and our fully-stocked kitchens and little houses and paid-for-cars and our ability to single-handedly drag every relative back from death's door (my stepdad's come down with cancer every summer he's been married to my mom, and she has brought him back to life every single time) ... so when we do, you'd better sweep us off our feet while the sweepin's good.
Hauling groceries is as good a place to start as any.