A Yarn About Yarn

Taking Mom to run errands is an adventure.  Besides going for a bi-annual doctor’s appointment or the quarterly hairdresser visit, errands usually entail going to the bank to cash a check, going to the drug store to replenish her supply of vitamins and other over-the-counter drugs or to pick up a prescription.  And sometimes, if the stars have realigned in anticipation of, oh I don’t know… calamity, havoc, humiliation… we get to go retailing.  Maybe to the ladies clothing store for new ‘pedal pushers,’ or the used book store for a couple of paperbacks, or maybe, like yesterday, to the craft store for yarn and afghan patterns.

We made our way to the back of the store where several aisles of yarn awaited.  The first aisle yielded two small skeins, the second a large skein of white and the third aisle the final two skeins.  We headed back to the front of the store to check out.  I was almost giddy with relief since Mom hadn’t destroyed any displays or injured any customers by crashing into them with her walker.

Suddenly, Mom spotted a clerk at an empty counter by the door and made a beeline toward her, ignoring the “Customer Service’ sign, plowing past the elderly woman who had just entered and was approaching the counter with her bag of returns and the clerk, who was directing another customer to the counter.

Quickly emptying her skeins from the storage area under the walker seat and pulling out her wallet, she flashed the confused clerk a smile.

“Hello, dear, I’d like to pay for these.” “This line is for returns, ma’am.”

“Oh my, oh dear,” Mom whimpered.  “I didn’t know.  I just wanted to pay for these, but I’ll move,” she continued, stumbling slightly as she tried to let go of the walker handles without toppling over.

“No, no, never mind,” the clerk said, quickly ringing up the six skeins of yarn.  “Just next time, you’ll need to get into the line down there,” she continued, pointing to the cue of six or seven customers.

“I certainly will do that,” Mom exclaimed with a sweet smile.

“Sorry about that,” I muttered, trying to apologize to the two women waiting patiently with their return items as we moved away from the counter towards the door.

“I guess next time you’ll have to wait in line like everyone else, Mom,” I said as we approached the car.

“Maybe,” she replied.  “Or maybe sometimes it just pays to be old and act dumb!”


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