Yesterday was to be a routine trip to my local grocery store. Thursday is Thanksgiving Day, of course, and I’m responsible for pecan pie and green beans with shallots. Except for the haricot verts, everything can be purchased well ahead of time. So off I went with my many-times-used canvas bags. In short order, I found everything I needed and several items I didn’t really need and proceeded to the checkout line. I had more than the fifteen items allowed for express checkout but the kind young man assured me it didn’t matter.
Ever the helpful one, I started to bag my groceries as the cashier scanned them. I don’t know why but I couldn’t seem to hold on to the shallots. I had quite a few of them and they didn’t seem to want to travel home in my bag. Or my tired hands weren’t well-coordinated or something, but whatever it was, the shallots went slipping out of my hands and back on the checkout counter. I finally said, “Well, crap, I’m losing all my shallots.” Now, I have no idea why that was so funny, but it was–to the teen-aged cashier and to me. He started to snigger and I started to giggle and no matter what either of us said after that, we just giggled louder. At first I could see that he was trying not to laugh. He was probably afraid of offending me. I said, through my hiccups and tearing eyes, “I’m sure I’ve lost more important things than shallots.” (I was thinking things like money, eyesight, my husband; you know, important things.) I have no idea what he was thinking but it certainly tickled him because he could hardly finish scanning my groceries.
The levity continued. I bought a carton of eggs. As is my habit, I had opened the package to check for breakage but I apparently didn’t close it carefully. My cashier-child scanned the carton and started to place it in my cart. As he did so, the carton opened and a dozen eggs went flying. I told him it was probably my fault, that I had opened the carton to be sure there wasn’t a broken one in there. He gave me an impish grin and told me, “Well, now they’re all broken.” After retrieving more eggs, I bade him good-bye. “You have a nice Thanksgiving, Ma’am,” he chortled as he cheerfully tackled the egg-slimed floor.
During the days, weeks, months of my divorce, I never completely lost my sense of humor. Granted, there were times when I didn’t find much to laugh about but those times never lasted long. Most days I can find humor all around me. I laugh at myself often. I remember those last months before D physically moved away, I would be rolling with laughter at something silly on TV and he would sit there stone-faced. Sometimes I would ask him, “Don’t you think that’s funny?” His response, “Yeah, I guess.” My dearly beloved ex-husband, I wish you laughter–lots of it.