Last minute shoppers

By Georgie Bright Kunkel

As I was about to click send after writing a column about the sad state of the nation during wartime, I was interrupted by my daughter saying that we needed whipping cream for the two pumpkin pies I had baked to bring to her home for Thanksgiving. Our health aide had to leave soon so I drove down to the supermarket - yes, I still drive.

Before leaving my car, I prepared my aching back for the walk up and down the aisles by popping some generic Tylenol pills into my mouth - a mouth that had only recently become familiar with the pill experience. After all, the contraceptive pill was not available in my childbearing years. On entering the store I spied the holiday dessert table announcing pumpkin pies for $4.95 - 10-inch ones at that. Here I was picking up whipping cream to put on the pumpkin pies I had made from scratch the night before. I had toyed with the idea of buying pumpkin pie but instead, cut up the Halloween pumpkin, boiled it, mashed it and mixed it with the milk, eggs and pungent spices that make pumpkin pie such a sumptuous Thanksgiving offering.

"Oh well, my pies are always superior to supermarket pies," I convinced myself. On the way to finding whipping cream, I approached the produce section. There were three kinds of fresh peppers, the red ones costing the most. I asked the produce person what would make red peppers cost more and she replied, "I don't have a clue." With that bit of non-information, I chose the green pepper, the cheapest.

As I looked up from the beautifully displayed lettuce, I was auditorially excited by the sound effect of a rainstorm, bringing reality to the vegetable buying experience. Then I noticed a young fellow talking agitatedly on his cell phone.

"But how big a container should I get? And what brand? You didn't tell me what brand."

I felt so superior that over the years my husband had done shopping without any reminders from me. Better yet, this year our grown children were providing most of the feast and all I had to do was bake two pies and trot to the supermarket. Oh, oh. I almost forgot the whipping cream that was to be my principal purchase of the day. As I walked by a young man reaching up to a dairy shelf I muttered, "Oh, oh. Hope they aren't out of whipping cream." Without blinking an eye, he reached up and pulled down a pint of the rich, fatty cream and handed it to me. I thanked him and mumbled, "Good thing I am old enough to eat anything I please this Thanksgiving."

Remembering that we had no bananas, I saw a bin of totally green ones. Without hesitation, I joked to the produce manager, "Am I too old to buy green bananas?" He diplomatically replied, "You certainly don't look too old for that." And I quipped, "I am 87," and danced a little jig in place to show off my agility.

Walking out of the store, leaning on my shopping cart and flaunting my thrift shop Santa Claus sweater and my hat with the flowers on top, I felt as young as all the last minute shoppers who looked as if they had never yet suffered pain in their lives. My last comment to anyone who was nearby was, "You think I look great now, you should have seen me when I woke up this morning looking like a leftover Halloween witch." But no one will ever see me that early in the morning except my husband, and he says he still loves me. So there.

Georgie Bright Kunkel is a freelance writer who can be reached at gnkunkel@comcast.net or 935-8663.