I got a pedicure this morning. Now my toes are bright & shiny. While at the salon (same as where I get my hair done), I was reading a People magazine (either this week’s or last’s) and it had a review of Jim Beaver’s Life’s That Way. They gave it 4 (out of 4) stars. (I don’t trust ratings at Amazon because they’re written by Supernatural fans, and we’ve learned they’re not always the most objective bunch of people. (But I still love ’em because I am one of them.)
Afterwards, I headed to the shopping center to buy an ink cartridge for my printer. Picked up a few other things and then went to Target for some housewares. After that, I popped into the the Dunkin Donuts/Baskin-Robin/Dunkin Deli place to get some lunch. What a traumatic experience! As I was stepping up to the counter (looking at the menu board), I tripped. I looked down to see if I’d hit the counter. Nope. The little boy next to me had stepped in front of me. His mom was sweet, apologizing and telling him that’s why he’s supposed to look where he’s going. I didn’t say anything. (I was kind of annoyed, even though it was partly my fault). While waiting for my sandwich I realized I should have been as gracious as the mother was. On the way out the door, the sandwich bag slipped and as I tried to get a better hold on it, the door bumped the arm that held the soda, knocking the lid off and spilling about 1/3 of it. (And of course there was someone right there to watch the whole thing.)
But that’s not all! After I placed my order and gave the—what do you call them? Clerk? Attendent? Counter girl?—$20, she asked me if I was a senior. I said no, but then thought, seniors are defined differently at different places, so I asked what the age limit was. She was so young, she didn’t know! The manager came by and said it was 60. And this just one day after a couple guys at work told me I looked better than the guys in charge, who are about 10 years younger than me.