Rainy days and Sundays always bring them out

I would have bought whatever they were selling … except I didn’t know what they were selling … and I’m not sure they’re selling anything, anyway.

If it was supposed to open in February, being able to see myself in the window means the inventory is only visible from the other side, you’re supposed to just walk in without knowing what’s inside, the store never opened or it opened and closed in five months.

But even though I find products named after parts of speech odd — Suzi gets hair products from a company called Verb — a company called Whom speaks to the grammar pedant in me.

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Getting out by running an errand

It takes right around four minutes to get from my driveway to the shopping plaza at the bottom of the hill.

I know this because I can play one full song during that time, and in this case, the final notes of Josh Groban’s “Angels” — a stirring cover of Robbie Williams’ hit and a rare instance where the original and its cover are both terrific — play as I pull into the parking lot.

I’m not going to say I provide accompaniment that can only be safely heard by me, alone, in my car … but I’m not going to say I don’t.

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Birthday candles, toilet paper and the next ‘0’

I’m not entirely sure what Suzi and I will do for her birthday at the end of this month.

Normally, we’d go to one of the restaurants where we eat for special occasions, but this year, we’ll probably just order take-out and eat at home.

But one thing I do know is that, whether dessert is cake or cupcakes like we did last year, we’ll have a “9” candle for the second number of her age, since she bought one the other day.

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When you need stuff, you need it

Oyster crackers and shaving cream … oyster crackers and shaving cream.

No, it’s not the oddball title of my latest venture (although …), but two things  I’d need before Suzi did the proper grocery shopping.

And since my hair had reached its gradually-then-suddenly stage, going to get it cut would be prime opportunity to duck into the nearby grocery store … if I remembered.

Oyster crackers and shaving cream … oyster crackers and shaving cream.

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Tales from a world gone weird

Suzi came back from a trip to the store with supplies that included milk and Nutella — the latter of which we’re sure is going to be currency if and when the apocalypse comes — and a proclamation that she was going to send me out for errands from now on.

Not because she hates doing them, and definitely not because I’m better at them … but because she said there’s so much material out there for writing.

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When all you need is an ‘8’

Without getting into the specifics, Suzi and I are well past the age where we’d put one candle for each year on our birthday cakes or the cupcakes we usually eat now.

There are way too many to fit them all easily or get them all lit without any melting, plus the ol’ lung capacity isn’t what it used to be.

Plus it would really suck to explain that our house burned down because of birthday candles.

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Walking in no-man’s land

Originally posted July 8, 2017.

Seeing someone in her peripheral vision, the clerk picked her head up, ready to be of service.

And then her face visibly dropped.

I didn’t take it personally. I knew that when she saw me, she realized that I probably wasn’t buying anything, that at best, I was going to have a question irrelevant to what they were selling, and at worst, I was going to be one of those guys with an inane question about buying something for his wife.

For the record, I was looking for directions to the bathroom.

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Lead me not into pumpkin temptation

It’s that time of year again.

Actually, it’s not “that time” until Thanksgiving, but I’m used to the early arrival of egg nog in the store to the point where I can note it and swat it aside for now.

I just remind myself to be patient until we make the actual turn toward Christmas, at which point I will start guzzling it like there’s no tomorrow.

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Getting PO’ed in the parking lot

“I’m just being nice. I don’t work here.”

I was trying to make it clear to the woman walking toward me with her shopping cart — just in case my overcoat, jeans, scarf and lack of nametag or apron didn’t — that I wasn’t a grocery store employee.

It didn’t work, or maybe she just didn’t give a damn. She dropped off her shopping cart between the handicapped-parking spaces and left.

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