You're how old?

This afternoon I met with our payroll company representative.  He stops in about once a year.  If we were located in a more civilized part of the world we would probably see him more often as he enjoys the opportunity to talk face-to-face with us.  He always sticks a thermometer in our mouths.  "How's it going?  Any problems?"  No fever or ailments evident so he talks about the other products the company offers its clients.

I am either a salespersons wet dream or worst nightmare depending on the salesperson's style.  I will be blunt and up front and won't waste your time.  If you are an arm twister hard sell type just fuhgeddaboudit. I'm not budging so back off.

Poppy and I were the only ones in the office when he showed up for our meeting.  Poppy, being the LCF greeter for the day, met him at the door and decided he was OK.  "Entrez, s'il vous plait," said Poppy with a very fake French accent.  I looked at our rep, shook my head and said, "Chihuahuas....."

So, the rep (I'll call him Bob since I shouldn't use his real name) and I are talking while Poppy fell asleep in my arms bored out of his gourd when all of a sudden something very strange happened.  Bob and I are looking at a Simple IRA presentation on his tablet when Bob turns to me and says, "You're in your early 30s."  Say what?!

"You're not serious, right?  You're just trying to be nice."

"No.  I'm being serious.  I'm not trying to goof on you.  I could have sworn you told me you were born in 1978," Bob says as he looks at my face as if for the first time.  I know he's calculating something like the percentage of laugh lines times the number of grey hairs divided by visible wrinkles and thinking....isn't that her age???

"I'm 53," I say back.  He says, "Really?"

Just then a recent memory smacks me side the head.  I remembered saying yesterday to a friend of mine,"I hate the way I look.  I didn't used to look like this."  You see, my dears, when I had my neck dissection in 2010, a whole bunch of lymph nodes were removed from my neck.  This caused a fluid traffic jam in my face and neck because the fluid drainage highways no longer existed.  In order to help the fluid drain from my head and face, every day I do a massage of my neck and shoulder area to try to push the fluid along.  I hate it but if I don't the swelling in my face and neck is even more pronounced.  I hate the way I look because my face and neck are perpetually puffy.

I was embarrassed by what I said yesterday and how I feel every time I look in the mirror and Bob thinking I was 20 years younger than I really am was a kick in the pants and a wake-up call.  First, I need to stop being so critical of myself.  Secondly, I need to remember that I am alive and so far have survived cancer.  Thirdly, why is Poppy speaking French and not Spanish?
 

It's the law

One night last week, after working all day, driving an hour to get home, feeding the critters, and walking the dog, I ventured back out of the house to make a Publix run.  It is a short drive and I managed to find a most excellent parking spot.  After I got out of the car and started walking to the store entrance, I was nearly shoulder to shoulder with a member of law enforcement.  He confidently and with an air of grandiose ego law enforcement obnoxiousness moved ahead of me.  My immediate reaction was my gut clenching with annoyance but then I shot his back with a quick once over.

His head was a buzz cut and his uniform was dark green.   He looked surprising old to still be on the streets and not doing desk work.  Maybe he just isn't that good and never got promoted.

Sitting low on his waist he had on his super hero belt with all of its interesting and deadly gadgets intact. I bypassed his ass.  I was just not interested.  Then I saw his shoes.  What the heck?!  They were so shiny and perfect in their patent leather awesomeness!  Light rays from the Publix signage bounced off of them.  How does a cop, or sheriff's office deputy, or whatever manage to keep his shoes so clean?  Did he not have to run down any bad guys?  Did he not have to ummm....do his JOB.....and in the process get his shoes dirty?

The Publix near my house is small.  Instead of visiting and feeling regular sized, one feels like they are a part of a dollhouse.  I'm not sure what they were thinking when they decided to move into the space.  Maybe it was, "Let's find enough space to stock it with half the stuff we normally sell so when people walk the aisles they won't have trouble deciding what to buy because there isn't much stuff."  To make up for the lack of space to put stuff and sell stuff, someone decided to make the entry area unnecessarily large.  (Is this the same as when men buy large trucks?)

So, I'm still behind Mr. Law Enforcement when he stops to pick up a hand basket.  I need a basket too so I stop.  I wait as he chats up the homeless population 4 deep sitting on the long bench against the wall that one must walk by in order to get into the second door which leads the shopper to the inner sanctum of shopping.  As Mr. L. E., officer to you, is talking I am staring at the pile of hand baskets willing him to get started.  He reaches down and lifts up the top basket and I am thinking, "Finally!" but wait!  He lifts up the basket under the top basket, too.  He then lifts in unison the top two baskets and takes the 3rd one down.  What?  WHAT?

Does her really think the 3rd one down is cleaner, newer, better?  Why is the 3rd one down better?  Have the germs had more time to die on it?  Then it dawned on me.  That's why his shoes are so clean.  One word - OCD.  Okay, not one word but one acronym.  Anyway, he's a little spit shine crazy, isn't he?

Now it was my turn to pick up a basket.  I looked in the top one and no garbage was in it so I took it.