I sat around the house yesterday with not much to do. It was one of those cold and windy days that called for an afghan and cheese toast and Dr. Zhivago. I once again piddled my time away by looking up vintage ashtrays, Paris watercolors, McCoy pelicans, and soup recipes. I made baked potato soup, cheese soup, vegetable soup, broccoli and cheese soup, greens, orzo and meatball soup, cauliflower soup, chicken noodle soup, and lentil soup, along with perusing the obituaries, local arrests, and building permits. Amazing how many people in Loreauville love a pond.

After I checked the mail about fifteen times I decided to pop into Hobby Lobby to see what artificial flowers they had and looked for Mardi Gras decor but forgot they didn’t do that because of their religion, but not before I asked where the Mardi Gras stuff was. They looked at me as if I had just denounced Jesus for the third time. I can only top that with the boy at Super One who strangely looked at me when I asked where the sherry was. I tried to help him by saying, “It should be on the Oriental aisle.” I’m sure that word is now not socially correct, but all I could think of was when Miss Twinkle choreographed a dance for our review in her living room in the sixties. I wore a beautiful green satin Oriental costume and hid behind an Oriental fan. His faux pas was worse than mine, well maybe not, when I asked him where the sherry was. “Sherry’s not on the schedule today,” he said.

After I left Hobby Lobby I popped into Rouse’s and sometimes think I’m the only person who says please and excuse me and I’m sorry even when I’m not the one in the way. When I go grocery shopping, and as I age, I make sure my license and credit card is in a place where I don’t have to make people wait on me. I have about two-hundred pockets in that purse and it drives me nuts. I have officially turned into my grandmother who sat on her Parkview Drive porch digging away in her purse waiting for us to take her to Menard’s. But this time I put them in my pocket so I wouldn’t have to dig but my pocket was empty. I tried to be friendly and pretended I was relaxed as I put my purse on the floor and squatted and rummaged and told the cashier, “I can’t find my credit card. Give me a minute.” Silence… I turned to the lady behind me and said, “I’m so sorry, I can’t find my credit card.” She said nothing and added some raised eyebrows to her impolite face. “Well I’m going to have to write a check,” I said.” I turned to the lady and said, “Gosh, I haven’t written a check in years.” Silence. Then the cashier said, “Can I see your license?” “My license is somewhere with my credit card then remembered it was on my phone. I dug around in my purse for my phone and opened up the app but it brought me to something like my canceled flights to Napa and Chicago so I asked him, “Do you know how to get the app?” Silence. I eventually found the app and wrote a check out with my hand shaking and packed my groceries up in the buggy until the cashier said, “ You dropped some tomatoes.” I looked down and there was a Runaway Roma I tried to grab but it kept rolling away until I finally stopped it with my blue sketchers and white socks. I grabbed it and stepped on the one I didn’t see. I apologized to the cashier and the mean lady and left with the cashier’s voice blaring, “There’s a Code One at register Two.” When I got outside I heard something thump. It was a triangle of brie that was going to accompany my soup-du-jour and I then found my stuff in my pocket. I waited for the mean lady to come out but she never did. I dreamed about throwing a tomato at her car and following her home to wrap her house with soup ingredients but I didn’t’ because I’m a nice Mt. Carmel girl. And by the way when Emily married at The Cathedral so many years later, I had a dress made in the color of Miss Twinkle’s Oriental homemade costume. And one more thing, my shoes weren’t Skechers, when I got home I noticed they had, in two places, US Polo Assn. Sigh!

PHYLLIS BELANGER MATA was born at the old Dauterive Hospital and grew up on Wayne Street. She is a 1974 graduate of Mt. Carmel Academy and is a chili dog “without the wiener” aficionado.