Unplanned Day

Unplanned Day by William James Johnson


I am having one of those unplanned days. My significant other, I should say wife, but I'm trying to sound like I'm cool or whatever the current term is for a guy who is trying to interfere with the onset of "who was the guy with the pointed nose who played Sherlock Holmes in all those British crime movies before they had all the "CSI" equipment.?

Now you can see why I say I'm mixed up today. I forgot what I was going to tell you about why I began to mention my wife. She got up before me and felt I should realize that the TV weather guy was warning a huge snow storm was heading our way, and she had discovered we urgently needed milk, bread, and a small jar of stuffed olives, and get some romaine lettuce to go with all those croutons she had made last night. Oh, and be sure the lettuce is not too old.

I looked out off my frosted bedroom window and marvelled at the beauty of the fern patterns which obscured my view of the snowy build up, bending my unprotected shrubs.

"Should I take the car?"

"A&P is only a block away. You can be there and back before you get the car out."

She's right. She's always right. I squeezed into my parka and forced the drift away from the side door. A gust of noreaster thrust me back against the frame.

"Do we really need this stuff now?"

"I wouldn't have gotten you out if I didn't need it. You're wasting time."

That one block walk was not my favorite thing to do in a gale that can kill the feeling in your fingers in a few minutes. I thought I had put my gloves in my parka so I would not have to be searching for them. Must have been in a different coat.

The store was packed with other sleepy spouses, waiting in line for a cart. Wouldn't you know it. I got one with two wonky wheels which preferred to go east instead of straight north. The wobbling and rattling noise aggravated my fellow shoppers, but not nearly as much as the banging sound of a pyramid of Heinz concentrated tomato soup on special that day. I think it was what is called a "lost leader". That damn cart suddenly got a life of its own and caught a corner can which brought all the specials rolling down the aisles.

It wasn't over yet. A senior citizen was rifling through a large stack of penny saving coupons which the cashier patiently calculated for the old sweety, while I tugged at my milk, and bread, and lettuce, which seemed okay.

"Now that wasn't too bad was it. Oh hell. I wanted stuffed olives. I can't stand these with the pits. Would you mind getting the right kind." I like olives, pits or not.