Attention All Shoppers...

I was in the store the other day and, I guess I was feeling pretty nixie.  I pushed my cart down an aisle, past another lady shopping.  I wasn’t moving particularly fast… those of you who know me have no problem believing that.  A few moments later she came up along side me with her cart.

I moved ahead a bit, but not because I needed to.  My competitive side kicked in and I had to stay ahead of her.

She moved ahead also and it was on!

Every step I took, she matched.  If I stopped, so did she.

I looked over at her as I began to push my cart away.  She mirrored my move.

“Are you challenging me to a race, lady?  I asked in a silly tone.

She laughed, but didn’t take the bait.  We parted ways and I have to admit, I was disappointed.  I think I could have taken her.

I met up with another lady.  This one I knew personally.  She was on a mission and almost didn’t stop to say hello… but I insisted.

“Hi Donna.  How are you today?” I asked.

“Oh… hi Dale.  I almost didn’t see you there.”

“I know.  You were about to walk right past me, just focused on your shopping,” I stated.

“Well… it’s Tuesday.  I don’t usually shop here on Tuesday because it’s Senior Citizen day.  The place really fills up but the shoppers move pretty slow and it takes longer, unless you zip around them.”  Which is what she was doing.

“I didn’t know that.  I haven’t seen many shoppers today though.”

“Well, it’s early enough to get around still.  In a half hour the buses from the retirement homes arrive and it changes drastically.  I’m trying to beat that rush… well; you know what I mean by “rush.”

I smiled at the mental picture of everyone rushing around slowly.

“Well… I won’t keep you from your shopping then,” I said.

After a few minutes I came across a lady in the dairy aisle (I almost said “Dairy Area” but I am doing my best to keep this blog family-friendly). She was one of the Senior Citizens Donna mentioned but I’m not sure she cared much about shopping.  I will call her Mabel.

Mabel was riding around on one of the store’s electric scooters and had only a few items in its basket.  I think she just wanted to chat with someone.  Mabel struck up a conversation and I joined her in it enthusiastically.

“Have you tried this margarine?” Mabel asked me, holding up a tub.

“Yes, I have and I must disagree.  I can believe it’s not butter,” I said with a sly grin.

She giggled which made me realize I had a good audience and I became more invested in our conversation than I was before.  Mabel shared a few of her opinions on dairy items and I was pleased to learn that the older you get the more cost effective pre-shredded cheese becomes. 

“I can’t shred it myself for that price,” Mabel informed me, then compared the prices of non-shredded and shredded mozzarella.  “It would take me 20 minutes to shred this chunk of cheese and I think I’m worth the extra 40 cents to spend that 20 minutes my way.”

Mabel followed that comment up with another about how she would most likely spend that bonus time but it involved her reviews on the Epsom salt and milk bubble bath in her cart and I don’t need to leave you with the mental picture it took me far too long to get out of my head.  Suffice to say, when used in combination, Mabel can sit in the tub for a surprisingly long time.  “Add five more minutes and stir young lady, and you could have a lovely soup to serve 100 guests.”

A word to the wise:  Don’t ever eat any soup at a retirement home that looks like it was made with coconut milk.  You’re welcome for that advice.

Anyway, I picked up two-dozen eggs and put them safely in my cart - after opening each carton and checking for breaks first, of course…  I’m not a complete idiot.  This interested her and she asked if I planned to do some baking, while checking the contents of my cart for other baking items.  

Is it a violation of privacy to look in someone’s cart while shopping?  What if I had personal things I was purchasing?  Maybe it’s just me, but I was a bit uncomfortable when she picked up a few of my items and checked them out.

“Ooooh… are you a fan of this brand of tissues?” she asked, holding up my choice.

“I like the patterns on their boxes,” I replied.  “It’s not necessarily about the tissue, it’s what will look good on my end table and nightstand.”

Knowing I had just been down the personal hygiene aisle I quickly tried to divert her attention.  I had no desire to offer my opinion on the more personal products I was purchasing that day.

“I’m not planning on baking with these eggs,” I stated and motioned for Mabel to look back at the cartons.  “I am going to a picnic this weekend and taking deviled eggs to share.”

“Oh my goodness sweetie, you should have purchased your eggs two weeks ago for that purpose.  Don’t you know you shouldn’t use new eggs for hard-boiling?  The shells will stick somethin’ fierce!”

Now, I was aware of that fact but felt I would be scolded severely for knowing it and not acting on it.  I didn’t think it would matter either if I told her I didn’t know I’d be making so many deviled eggs two weeks ago.  I opted to seek her wisdom in the situation.

“Hmmm…” I offered and rubbed my chin in a perplexed manner.  “Do you have any ideas of what I could do to prevent that and still use these eggs?” I asked.

I have heard many things on this situation:  put some vinegar in the water while boiling; add salt to the water or oil.  Somebody once told me to boil them in coffee instead of water but I think he was pulling my leg.  Mabel shared a hint that I had never heard before and gave me an explanation that actually made me want to try it.

“Well… you can never go wrong if you toss two lit matches in the water just as it starts to boil.  The sulfur used in the match will react with the eggs and loosen the membrane between the shell and the whites.  You have to toss them in just as you light them, though, because that’s when the match’s sulfur is at its peak.”

“Hmmmph” I responded in a tone that showed I was impressed and intrigued with the idea.  “I have never heard that one before.  I’ll have to put that suggestion to the test today.”

“It has never failed me in all my 75 years of cooking,” Mabel boasted.  Seeing that I was trying to assess her age she followed her comment up with, “That’s right.  I started cooking when I was just 5 years old.”

“Well that settles it.  I will trust your 75 years of experience and use the match trick.”

“Good for you,” Mabel squealed.

Then I was overcome with the need to shock her.  I know it’s wrong to tease the elderly and we should offer them our utmost respect.  But I am who I am and I couldn’t help myself even if I tried.

“I do have one question about this,” I began.  I put on my best puzzled expression, tilted my head to the right slightly and asked her in the most serious voice I could muster, “How do I keep the matches lit?”

She looked at me with concern.  I allowed her to think I was a complete idiot for a moment before I flashed a grin that let her know I was just playin’.

“Ohhh you!” she scolded and slapped the edge of my cart playfully.  Then she stuck her tongue out at me as she drove her motorized cart away.  I’m not sure if that meant she enjoyed our little chat or if she hoped she’d never see me again.

When I finally completed my shopping and made my way to the checkout area there were three open registers.  I was hoping to reach one without a line but just steps away I was beaten out by, none other than, the lady who I accused of challenging me to a race.

“I guess I won this one!” she said with a smile.

I was pleased with her joke and giggled.  Not to be outdone though, a family trait that is strong in my bloodline, I quickly joined in.  I raised my fist in defiance and exclaimed, “No fair!  The sun was in my eyes.”

While I patiently waited for my turn I looked over to the next open register.  My friend, Donna, who was clearly a “Power shopper” was just finishing her transaction.  She had two full carts of groceries, which put my ¾-full cart to shame.  She obviously had brought her A-game and I would not have been a worthy opponent had we raced in our shopping.

“I wonder if she has ever been stopped to learn the match trick for eggs,” I said to myself. 

Well, I did try that match trick.  I burned my finger when I lit the two matches at the same time.  It caused me to overthrow the pot with them.  When I tried to blow the matches out I leaned in too close to the pot of eggs and singed the hair on my arms with the flame of the burner.  The smell was horrible.  On my second attempt I successfully got the matches into the water but knocked over my glass of iced tea with the follow-through from my arm.  I was cursing my dear 80-year old new friend. 

The eggs pealed rather nicely but I still had a few on which the shell “stuck somethin’ fierce!”  Those eggs became “Stealers” - what my Mom called treats that were not fit for presentation but as delicious as all the rest as she let us kids dive into them.  Ugly or not, “Stealers” are awesome.

As for the hard-boiled egg tricks I have tried, none have been foolproof and I have shown that I am a worthy candidate for the title “Fool” in my attempts with them.  If anyone has another to suggest I will certainly try it out.  Perhaps they should all be used in combination.  Or, maybe… just maybe… a little Epsom salt and Milk bubble bath.  At the very least I would have a delicious soup to serve or share at the next picnic.