The grocery store aisles are wide enough for three people walking abreast to pass down without touching the sides, but somehow the two old women and their carts have managed to snarl traffic amongst the cleaning supplies.
One bends down, futzing with something on the bottom of her cart. "I can't get it out," she shouts, presenting her full, entire, pale blue denim clad backside to me while her companion looks on, unconcerned.
Her companion glances to me, smiles, then back to the pale blue denim expanse, and says, still without urgency, "Just move over to the side so this nice gentleman can get by."
No comments:
Post a Comment