Supermarket Lunch

I have turned the corner and kissed my sexiness goodbye, buried it next to my seventies studded embroidered jeans that I sewed snaps into the crotch. Son, you would eventually find them in the cedar chest after I go, so you might as well get over the shock that your mother ricocheted into sleeping with your father before marriage. Actually, little sleeping was going on except when my mother would rise early at 6 a.m. on Sunday mornings to wake us up by tapping on his car window after we did fall asleep. Bless her. "You better get in the house before your father finds you," she'd say.

Really, what could be expected when the paternoster pontificated whoredom since I was a tender baby girl, Cosmopolitan magazine equated maturity with Kegles, and sex rather than confidence was the so-called control I employed over men? Sure, I wished things were different, sure I wished I didn't think that because I hopped in the hay with him that I should marry him, but at the time the impetuousity of youth combined with a need for demonstrating independence overruled any lifesense.

Shoulda taken the scholarship. Shoulda gone to NYC Art School. Shoulda coulda woulda. Blah blaf blarg. None of it matters, for then maybe I would not have had our son. Who knows? And it is not too late for adventure. However, it will be adventure squeezed in between warm baths to loosen aching joints and bed by 10:00. As I said, today was the day I caught the free lunch bus and I am not looking back.

After the Farmer's Market trip with my friend, I stopped at the local grocery chain to hunt powdered coriander. Upon walking in, I was greeted by a former student who now has breasts and sparkle powder on them touting the fall celebration being put on by the store. You received a flyer with stations that had give-aways; the workers were to sign each visited station after which you put the flyer into a bin, eligible for a drawing to win a sheet pizza. Yow.

This was free food. Free food that I usually snub in self-congratulatory fashion. No more, I am ass over teacups for smidgens of edible samples. Abbie Hoffmann would be proud. Look him up, young'uns. First there was mulled cider, then banana peppers stuffed with chicken sausage, foccacia with tomatoes. Vitamin water, dill chip dip, lovely salami spread with gorgonzola cheese garnished with a tiny wedge of pear. Chocolate chip cookies, frozen pizza samples, and apple slices dipped in caramel. Oh mama. I fell into hell with a smile. Move over, bitches.

Some of the older folks greeted the food sample distributing people by name, and I am right there with them, or will be next week. It took care of lunch and I lost any shame that may have been needling me not to cadge free samples. Me, who shops at AmVets, Habitat for Humanity Restore, garbage picks, and digs through the recycling bins for yesterday's newspaper ads rather than shucking out fifty cents for a paper. It comes under the heading of hunting and gathering, which, when you have bills to pay, should be as close to free as possible.

I told my friend that if cat food prices get any higher, I'll get a slingshot license and start nailing the local Canadian Geese which are getting shot as nuisances anyways. I could do it, and we would all feast and get free down stuffing for our pillows also. Sure, come on over. We have lots of fun over here.

This day went at a clip, already the sun is down and the winds are picking up. I am going to go poke around at dishes and ponder life. Take good care of yourself, all of you, it means the world to me. We need all the good people we can get, so tonight when you finally drop off to sleep, give yourself a thought for your good fortune at living in a world where chances to start over abound. Sleep well, sleep sound.