Chapter 21
Talking to the Boobs
This morning I was perusing the bread aisle at Wal-Mart when I noticed the Wonder Bread man stocking the shelves. His eyes darted from the shelves, to his cart, and to my nearly B’s. They then went back to the cart, to the shelves, and finally they rested again on my chest...just long enough to start a conversation.
I just hate when men talk to my BOOBS! Why do they do this? Do they think the boobs will talk back? Do men think their creepy stare will entice my lovely ladies out of their pleasantly padded nearly B cups and into their hands? For the love of God, WHY????
“Good morning,” he says to my silent boobs.
“Good morning to you,” I say, hoping he’ll realize where his stare remained. The glazed look remained and so I turned my back to him and feigned interest in the English Muffins, a bit afraid he’d start to drool. Besides my boobs are shy and they were a bit embarrassed by all the attention.
“My name is Ed,” he says. “I have a photographic memory.”
Great, I think, he’ll remember the dimensions of my lovely ladies forever and ever, amen. I can feel his gaze burning a hole through the back of my pink sweater and into the snap on my bra. I’d leave but he has placed himself strategically between myself and the buy one, get one free Honey Oat Multi-Grain bread. I cannot, no I WILL not, leave without that bread.
“That’s fascinating,” I say. “That must come in quite handy.”
“Oh, it surely does,” says Ed. I turn just enough to see his eyes lighting up. His body language changes suddenly as he realizes he’s enraptured me with his intellect and charm. He’s confident, he’s thrilled, and I believe he actually looks taller.
“You could tell me your birthday, your social security number, and your driver’s license number and I could repeat them ten years from now. Wanna test me?”
Clearly a good idea, Ed, I think. I really want all of my personal data embedded in your hard drive until it crashes. Just stack the bread, Ed.
“I sure wish I had time for that, Ed,” I say grasping the Multi-Grain sale bread, “but I’m afraid I must get going.” At that very moment he side stepped right into my extended arm knocking the bread to the floor; a move so graceful a ballerina would have envied it.
“It will only take a minute,” says Ed, nearly panting from the excitement of engaging me in conversation. He picks the bread up from the floor and holds it just out of my reach.
I liken this move to the elementary school bully holding my Flintstone’s lunch box precariously over my head in the second grade. There was a banana moon pie in that lunch box or I would have just let him keep it. I spent the rest of recess jumping and swiping at my lunch box to no avail until the bell finally rang and he launched Fred, Barney, Wilma, Betty, Bam-Bam, Pebbles, Dino, AND my banana moon pie right over my head and into the boys’ bathroom. I stared aghast as it slid through the propped open door, across the floor, past the round community sink and stall doors, and hit the furthest wall from the door.
Oh, the dilemma. I could not possibly walk into the boys’ bathroom to retrieve the lunch box. Surely I’d be arrested...or even worse, the other girls would find out that I’d entered the icky boys’ zone.
While I contemplated my precarious position and tried very hard not to start crying, the cutest boy in my class happened by. Jay Mason. He was taller than anyone in our class and had the blondest hair and bluest eyes ever placed on this lovely earth. And when he was anywhere near me, I completely lost the capacity to speak English. Jello legs would inevitably ensue and I would wobble helplessly away.
“What’s the matter?” Jay asked.
“Mmmmm...mmmy....llllunchb...” I replied.
“What?”
I gave up the idea of engaging in conversation and just pointed to the lunch box which had opened and left my lunch scattered about the floor amid wet shoe prints and pieces of brown paper towels.
Jay walked into the boys’ bathroom and picked up the box and all of its contents. He wiped each piece carefully off on his pants before placing the contents into their Flintstone’s home and snapped the lid closed. He handed my lunch to me and I saw his clear, blue eyes more closely than I ever dreamed I would. In them I saw all of the compassion in humanity gathered in one spot. Surely Jay Mason was an angel in a second grade boy suit. I took the box but was completely incapable of putting the two words together that I knew just had to be said.
Instead of saying thank you I opened the box and handed him my banana moon pie. He took it from my shaking hand and as he did his fingertips gently touched mine and I was pretty sure I was going to turn into a melting pile of goo right there.
By the time the flashback ends Ed is blocking my buy one get one selection completely and the one loaf I had managed to grab was still waving over my head.
“Come on,” coaxed Ed. “Just test me. It won’t take long, I promise.”
Realizing I was not going to get my bread until I placated him I agreed to play Ed’s game.
“Go ahead,” he said excitedly, “tell me your social security number.”
“I’m here with a full-on creep alert,” Shallow Lucy said. “In case you haven’t caught on.”
“He is a little unusual,” I admit.
I gave him a series of numbers which did not include my social security number and threw in a fake date of birth to make him happy.
I assumed he repeated them back to me verbatim but really did not know and certainly did not care. I just wanted my bread.
“That’s right, Ed,” I said. “You certainly have a great memory.”
“Tsk, tsk,” Ed said, “You haven’t been completely honest with me. And frankly I’m a bit disappointed in you.”
“Disappointed?” I asked.
“This is so not worth the buy one, get one deal,” Shallow Lucy said. “Let’s get outta here!”
For once I listened to Shallow Lucy and started backing away from Ed, but I was waylaid by my own damned grocery cart. I swear it was a conspiracy!
“I repeated one number wrong in each of the numbers you gave me and you said I got it right. Come on, now, don’t make it so easy!”
“I really have to go, Ed. I’d love to stay and chat but I have a...funeral to attend and I really don’t want to keep my dead friend waiting.”
“Your dead friend can wait an eternity,” Ed said and had a good laugh at his own joke.
Just stack your bread, Ed, I thought.
“You wouldn’t need a date for that funeral, would you?” he asked with the brightest of smiles. “I get off work here in a few minutes and I’d be happy to come with you.”
“A date for a funeral?” I asked completely dumbfounded.
“I’m not married,” he offered, “and everyone needs someone in their time of need. As a matter of fact my third ex-wife said I was at my best in times of crisis. She was a truly awful woman but she did have wonderful taste in men. As a matter of fact we have twin boys together and ...”
Ed babbled on and I feigned interest, but my mind took me away for a respite to a place where Shallow Lucy was honing her Dr. Seuss skills.
“Just stack the bread, Ed,” Shallow Lucy said in a sing song voice. “And then make the bed, Ed. Your face looks kinda red, Ed. What’s that? Your face is red because you bled, Ed? Oh, you’re really dead, Ed? You mean you’re actually a zombie, Ed? Pay attention to Ed, Lucy, he asked you a question.”
“Well?” repeated Ed. “Do you want me to go to the funeral with you nor not?”
“Aw, no, you can’t go to the funeral with me,” I blurted out. “Only women can attend. My friend was a lesbian and she just hated men. She left explicit instructions not allow any men at her funeral.”
“Lucy, Lucy, Lucy,” Shallow Lucy sighed. “Why don’t you just tell him he’s an annoying jackass and let’s be on our way?”
“You know I can’t do that,” I said. “Nope.
It is infinitely ingrained in my being all the way to my soul that I must not be rude to people. There’s nothing I can do but lie my way out of this.”
“A lesbian, huh?” asked Ed. “Are you a lesbian too?”
“As a matter of fact I am, Ed.”
“Well that’s cool because my second wife was a lesbian too and so I know all about your kind.”
“Good, then you must know ‘my kind’ does not like to be kept waiting and so I have to be going.”
“Now that you mention it, my second wife really hated to be kept waiting. I guess that is true about you people. All right,” he said, “I’ll let you go if you’ll give me your phone number.”
“I can’t do that, Ed.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t have a phone.”
“Why don’t you have a phone?”
“I’m in a secret lesbian society and we don’t like contact with the outside world.”
“Then I’ll give you my phone number,” Ed said. He took out an invoice slip and scrawled his name and phone number on it. He handed me the slip of paper and two loaves of bread.
“I really hope you’ll call,” said Ed. “You’re a very easy person to talk to. I sure enjoyed our conversation.”
“I enjoyed visiting with you, too, Ed. Thanks for your number.”
“Have a good day.”
“You too, Ed.”
If I’d had this recipe before I met annoying Ed the bread guy, it could have saved me a whole lot of trouble. I use the bread machine for this easy loaf of bread that tastes and smells fabulous.
My Lovely Ladies’ Holiday Cardamom Bread
1 cup milk
1/4 cup butter cut into small pats
1 egg
1/2 cup sugar
1/2 teaspoon salt
1 teaspoon Cardamom
1-1/2 teaspoons dry yeast
4 cups all-purpose flour
Place ingredients in bread machine according to manufacturer’s instructions. Check throughout the cycles to be sure the dough does not stick to the sides of the machine. If it sticks then add flour a bit at a time until it forms a ball that does not stick to the sides.
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