They’re only little tears, darling, let them spill

Sophie is sitting on the living room floor with scissors, a long sheet of at least a hundred tattoos, and a mini spray bottle of water.  Her cheeks, chin, forehead, and limbs are covered with anchors, playing cards, mermaids, and hearts.  She’s been digging into the classic set of temporary tats.  Yesterday, though, she got a Snow White tattoo from a gumball machine at the ice cream store and that one? that one is on her ass.  I sense that I will pay for my raising with interest with this girl.  I mean, if you’ve got tattoos on your butt before you’ve learned your multiplication tables, just think of all the opportunities spread before your feet!

Today was one of the rougher emotional days I’ve had recently.  That’s why I ended up this afternoon shopping at Trader Joe’s with red eyes and smeary mascara.  Something about having a well-stocked kitchen makes me feel secure when other things are wobbly, and so I really did it up.  My receipt was three feet long.  One of the things I bought was a package of cheddar cheese curds.  The guy who was checking me out (well, not ME, my groceries) scanned the cheese curds and then said to a guy working the floor, Can you bring me another package of these?  So, the other guy did, and then my guy, he opened up the package and as he scanned the three cartons of eggs I’d bought asked me if I had checked all the eggs for breaks.  Uh, yes, I did.  They’re fine.  So, what was wrong with the cheese?  Was it open or something? I asked.  Naw, he said, they just looked so good I had to have some.  I need a snack!  And, then he stopped and ate some cheese, savoring it in only the way that the very, very, VERY stoned can, before turning to the girl on the register behind him and saying, Heeeeeeey, want some cheese?

She declined, and I think that really made him happy.  Because, honestly, why share the squeaky cheese if you aren’t bound by some sort of oath to do so?  Anyway, it was funny to me because I was the one who looked stoned, and he was the one who was baked and snacking on my groceries with his clear and bright eyes. 

Is there a moral to this story?  Hmmmm.  I feel there must be, but it escapes me at the moment.

5 thoughts on “They’re only little tears, darling, let them spill

  1. nakedjen

    that post made me miss california in only the way a shopping trip to trader joe’s (oh how i miss trader joe’s) and knowing how a stoned check out guy can ask for the cheese could.

    thank you for that. i’m sorry you had a bad day, but you writing about it made my bad day better.

    so, again, thank you for that.


Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *