My sainted wife and I wandered about the mall earlier this
week, because that’s what old, retired folks do.
I needed to use the men’s room again, because that’s what
old, retired folks do. That’s when I
lost my sainted wife.
Before cheering and heading for the champagne aisle, I
remembered she had the car keys in her purse.
Now I needed to find her before she abandoned me.
I dashed from aisle-to-aisle as fast as I could dash without
a martini awaiting my arrival, to no avail.
Just when I thought I spied her, it turned out to be another
woman who was her same height, weight, with the same hair color and similar
do. She wearing an identical blouse and
those britches that only come down to her mid-calf.
It wasn’t long before is espied another woman with
comparable physical qualities, again not her.
It seems as though shipping venues are chock full of women
who look alike.
Years ago, we had a house surrounded by nut and fruit
trees. As each spring arrived, we would
stand in awe at the beauty and magnificence of the blossoms glowing on the
pear, cherry, apple, and plum trees.
They served as a barometer for the beginning of warmer weather and
eventually summer.
But along the way, as the fruit developed into meaningful
shapes of deliciousness along with the promise of fresh produce, squirrels
began to appear testing these wares.
They would snatch one of the fruits from the tree and, after taking a
bite to realize they were not ripe, drop it on the ground.
This was not very annoying until rogue squirrels from
adjacent neighborhoods began to help our barrio rodents with their fruit
decimation.
It wasn’t long before I began a catch-and-release program
for the squirrels. They were safely
trapped in a cage and, to ensure they were not recidivists, they were spray
painted with orange paint.
Yes, they all looked alike, very much like our lady
mall-goers.
Short of finding orange spray paint and engaging in a cross
between assault and vandalism, I had an epiphany.
Soon thereafter I ran across my sainted wife who was
dutifully tucked away in the shoe department.
She was trying on sneakers for her daily walk around the
neighborhood. The kind she likes –
Sketchers – are too expensive for our taste so, she was trying on a
less-expensive knock-off brand likely made by 6-year olds in Indonesia
She tried on a pair that Stevie Wonder could see in the
dark, in a closet, during an eclipse.
“What do you think?” was her question. The delight on her face indicated she liked
them and was going to buy them no matter what my answer was.
Recalling the spray-painted rodents in my yard, I smiled and
said, “I really like them!”
You see, none of the other gray-haired, women in the mall
wore a pair of shoes even close to these.
These were neon locator beacons I needed to be able to quickly find my
sainted wife in a jiffy. If I have the
car keys, that is.
