727. There are some things
© Bruce Goodman 7 October 2015
Connie was of the generation that still believed “there are some things one does not talk about”. She was eighty-four and lived on her own. She was still quite independent, but she was going blind.
She had enough sight to enjoy a little bit of television between supper and bedtime. And she lived close enough to the supermarket to walk there. Of course, it could sometimes be hazardous crossing the road, but no matter; Connie could clearly hear the approach of oncoming traffic and knew when the coast was clear. She would dash across the road and into the supermarket.
Fortunately, having shopped there for years, she knew where everything was. Only once or twice, when a brand had changed the colour of its packaging or they had rearranged the shelves, would she get bothered. But usually shopping was a pleasure and a breeze.
This day, however, she needed some abrasive scrubbing pads for the kitchen sink. A pot had a dirty bottom. But where were these scrubbers in the shop? She knew the aisle of cleaning agents. She should be able to find a packet of them there. And she did!
The man at the checkout smiled, and said “You enjoy the rest of your day, Sweetie,” which annoyed Connie immensely as she found it condescending. Just because she was old and almost blind. She could have whacked him.
She crossed the road safely and arrived home, unpacking the groceries and using her magnifying glass… Oh goodness me! Oh goodness! How embarrassing! What would she want with those? What would she do with them?
There are some things one does not talk about.