Sometimes you just have to have some Cheez-Its.
When my daughter's here, they are a staple. But she didn't come home this summer. The cracker drawer is bare. The refrigerator has milk with an expiration date that coincides with the last time she and her brother were home. Cereals are well past their prime, as are cookies and chips.
With the kids not around, I didn't need to buy many groceries -- just lettuce, Lean Cuisines, yogurt, bananas, peanut M&Ms;, your basic food groups.
But driving home the other day, late, starving, I had a hankering for Cheez-Its and stopped at the grocery store. They're always on sale, or give the appearance of being on sale -- you know, two for $8. I have a bad habit of seeing the "two for" but forgetting to do the math and so don't necessarily get that it's not a sale at all but the regular price times two.
At the checkout, the cashier rings it up, then says, "Oh, but I have to give you a discount," and deducts 13 cents.
Huh? What discount? I look up at the computer screen and there it is, in capital letters: "SENIOR DISCOUNT. 5 percent."
OK, I was overdue for a touchup on the gray. I was doing it myself until the time something went bad and in the sunshine, my entire head took on an ominous purple glow. Now I leave it to the professionals. Which means I can't afford to have it done as often.
I think about asking the cashier if they give the senior discount to 40-year-olds now, even though I'm not even close. But I didn't want the lousy 13 cents. I wanted her to take the money back. Instead, I kept my mouth shut, took the bag and left.
Driving home, stewing, with a mouthful of crackers, I vowed never to go to that store again. Then I wondered if, by the time this is all over, should this pattern continue, there will be anywhere left that I am willing to shop.
I was also thinking how resolute I've been about ignoring the queries showing up in the mailbox for AARP and long-term care insurance. I buy into the theory that today's 50, which I have also passed, is yesterday's 40. Now to be brought down by one cashier, who was no spring chicken herself?
Finally, I tell myself to shake it off. Something like this happened to me once when I was 40, too. Maybe some people just have bad eyes.
Or maybe, the next time at the grocery store, I skip the crackers and go directly to the prunes.
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