The young woman in the supermarket was pushing the buggy lazily through Aisle Five. She was wearing extremely short shorts, flip flops, and she was extraordinarily pregnant. Her hair was piled atop her head, no makeup. She looked maybe 15.
A young man was with her. He, too, was young. He was built like a junior high-schooler, painted in billions of tattoos, wearing work boots.
“Can we get Pop Tarts, Gerald?” she said. “I love Pop Tarts, don’t you like them?”
“I don’t give a [bleep] about Pop Tarts, Nadeen,” Gerald said. “What the [bleep] do I care about Pop Tarts? I’m not wasting our [bleeping] money on Pop Tarts. We have more important stuff to buy.”
Thus it was, she returned the strawberry Pop Tarts to the shelf. And she pushed the buggy, following her young man through the aisles.
“Oh, Gerald, I don’t see what the big deal is, I love them, can’t we buy some?”
“Hell to the no,” said the great poet of our time. “What’choo think I am, made of cash?” He cussed again.
“All you do is spend, spend. Ain’t taking you shopping with me no more ‘cause you buy everything. Now push that cart over here, there’s a sale on peanut butter.”
I hate to be nosy, but it’s a gift. So I followed this couple. Whenever they looked in my direction, I pretended to be studying at the ingredients on a Marshmallow Fluff jar label.
The girl absently placed a hand on her belly and said, “Do you think we should name her April, since she’s gonna be born in April?”
“No [bleeping] way,” said the Bard. “We agreed on naming her Meredith, after my mom, don’t you like that name?”
She smiled. “I guess, but it sounds so… So old ladyish.”
“Don’t say that to my mom,” said Gerald. “She’s been depressed about getting old now that she’s 38.”