The grocery store was eerily quiet late this afternoon. When the whoosh of the sliding glass doors ushered me into the produce department, there was only one other family shopping. "I need parsnips!" the dad pointed at his teenaged daughters. "I'll go get the meat."
The girls and I crossed paths several times. As I picked up celery, avocados, and cabbage, they silently paced the vegetable case, unable to complete their mission. Watching them search, I started to look, too, and I spotted the parsnips right away. Should I point them out? I wondered, or would that be creepy? When at last they found them, I was relieved, but by then I had a predicament of my own.
Where are the carrots!? I scanned and scanned again, unwilling to believe they could possibly be sold out, even on the Sunday night after Thanksgiving. Finally I located them...
right next to the parsnips.
The girls and I crossed paths several times. As I picked up celery, avocados, and cabbage, they silently paced the vegetable case, unable to complete their mission. Watching them search, I started to look, too, and I spotted the parsnips right away. Should I point them out? I wondered, or would that be creepy? When at last they found them, I was relieved, but by then I had a predicament of my own.
Where are the carrots!? I scanned and scanned again, unwilling to believe they could possibly be sold out, even on the Sunday night after Thanksgiving. Finally I located them...
right next to the parsnips.
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