Saturday brought the usual round of 90 mph chores and errands. Late in the day we whipped our way through the grocery story, trying, once again, to figure out how with Catherine at school we’re buying less but spending more.
As is always the case, I had to repeatedly backtrack my way through the store, hunting Basil down in the aisles. He’s easily distracted by the packaging and inevitably adds things to the cart we don’t need. Or else he compares prices at great length… or bumps into chatty people who know him from his postal service days.
As we went for a walk later in the day, Basil asked me to please wear something bright when we go shopping from now on. “Can you wear something like that neon dress that woman had on? I kept losing you in the store,” he said as we rounded the hill on Marshall Street.
Choosing to ignore the fact that he’s color-blind, I cut to the chase: “You’ve slept in the same bed with me for 22 years, but you don’t recognize me in public?” I asked, only slightly amused.
“Yes,” he said, “everyone was in blue and gray. I couldn’t find you.”
The conversation was more than a little ironic, since a stranger had no problem noticing me in the dairy aisle that very day.
The 60-something sort of hipster fella with slicked-back hair that seemed to be courtesy of a box of Just for Men hair dye offered me this compliment as he walked on by: “You are one good-lookin’ woman.”
Briefly at a loss for words, I then remembered my manners and thanked him. Once he was out of sight, I had a bit of a laugh.
It’s nice to be noticed, I suppose, and it looks like I need to be buying yogurt to make it happen.