Last night I found myself standing in a disheveled school supplies isle of a large, national retailer, rummaging through near depleted bins. Although I had purchased most supplies weeks prior, I was one jumbo-sized book cover short and needed to join the ranks of “one more thing” shoppers, slackers, and parental luddites who literally didn’t get the online school supply memo. Whatever the motivation, we were all there, after 9 p.m., sorting through glue sticks and reaching for the last two book covers. I snatched up a candy-scented pink jelly bean stretch cover, jumbo size. Of course, a candy-scented pink anything made perfect sense at 9 p.m. at a major retailer with like-minded shoppers who’d rather be elsewhere. Not to frame my retail exploits in the context of a popular movie (WWZ) or scarring book (The Road), but I couldn’t help feeling like I was playing an extra in either nightmare scenario.
Scented super jelly bean cover in hand, I headed to the checkout and somehow found other oddities along the way, like an oversized canister of coffee. For the sake of civility, but mostly to offset that irrational zombie/post-apocalyptic feeling I picked up in isle 2A, I turned around to establish eye-contact with a fellow mom/school supply slacker shopper. She promptly ignored my rolling eyes and likely added me to her roster of “this is why I don’t usually shop late at night” anecdotes retold at the office or bus stop the next morning.
Back at home, my husband took one whiff of the cover, shook his head, and opened the new canister to brew some coffee for us. Five Kindle clicks later, while recuperating from my outing and contemplating how to conquer earth (aka, what to do with all this amazing free time after the kids go to bed), I promptly fell asleep.
Well, not really, because I’ll click, conquer, and sip tomorrow, sans jelly-bean scents wafting through my “me time.”