This is how my day is going: I’m in Publix because I am out of tin foil and I use tin foil whenever I bake anything in the oven so that if anything spills over I never have to clean it. This is a fairly new thing— I didn’t used to use foil in the oven. In fact, I used to love cleaning. When I was a new mother and we had our first house, I wiped down my entire kitchen with Murphy’s Oil soap several days per week. Imagine me dancing through my kitchen, drunk in love with my new baby, reeking of dried breast milk and spit up and that adorable green baby poo that eventually I stopped trying to get out from under my nails. “Perhaps I’ll make a roast,” I would think, “Yes, that’s what I’ll do!” As soon as I coat every surface with this greasy lemony paste and make some homemade brownies before baby wakes up from her nap.

I was June Cleaver without the dress and heels, Samantha Stevens minus the nose twitch, Alice but with no Brady Bunch. “This is the life!” I would think.

Now the thought of having to wipe up drips from an exploding sweet potato makes me want to go to my bed, get under the covers and listen to the theme music from Platoon.

Anyway, I needed the foil because I recently started Weight Watchers and— what? Oh now stop. I know you’re saying “YOU? On Weight Watchers? Whatever for? Nobody notices those rolls of gushy flesh oozing out over your jeans and bra strap  but you. Don’t be so critical of yourself!

Very nice of you but you know, I like to keep myself trim. Anyway, I am making some turkey tenderloins because turkey has no points! You can eat all the turkey you want! Just have to pull off all the skin, eat only the white meat and don’t put any seasonings on it. It should taste like air. No points!! 

Still, as careful as I am to make sure there is absolutely nothing left on the turkey breast that may have an inkling of flavor, there is bound to be one speck of delicious fat that will heat up and pop in the oven, leaving me a black blob of sticky goo to scrape off, hence the need for foil.

So, I am on my way back from exercise and decide to pop into Publix for my Reynolds Wrap. Now don’t think I’m trying to brag by casually mentioning I’m on my way back from exercise. I’m not one of those women with my perky pony tail peeking out the back of my cute little Lululemon ball cap showing up at the coffee shop after doing my morning boot camp where I crawl through barbed wire wearing Mac lipstick and Benefit brow gel. Although I did wear a ball cap a lot back in the early 2000’s which I believe is one of the reasons for my divorce.

No, here is my thought process during exercise: How much longer? This can’t still be the warm up. I can’t take much more. I can’t breathe! Help me I’m not breathing! Am I breathing? Lord make it stop! Make it stop!  

And this is Pilates folks. So no, I’m not bragging.

That being said, I feel pretty damn proud of myself afterwards. I feel healthy and younger, though my knees beg to differ. And I march myself right into Publix in my exercise clothes which consists of  2 or 3 long shirts to hide back fat that juts out in all different directions and a pair of tights that say Jordache on the back. Now there was a company who knew how to make things to last.

I’ve still got it I think. I look like 10 years younger in my sportswear I think. My tennis shoes are really cool.

And I peruse the foil area and grab my Reynolds Wrap. Then I notice the new cling wrap that sticks to everything so you don’t need tops on your containers. Is this something I should invest in?  All the tops to my containers fell behind the shelves in my cabinet and I have no intention of ever reaching back there because I’m sure there are crumbs and old straws and other things I never want to see again.

So sure, I’ll try it!

As I turn to place it in my cart a sweet elderly woman is making her way towards me, pushing her walker one step at a time. Closer she comes, never taking her gaze from me. Does she need help? Maybe she needs something from the top shelf and can tell from my long, lean, toned body that I will easily be able to reach it for her. Of course I will help. 

Finally she stands in front of me and gazes up into my face.

“Excuse me,” she begins. “Are you on our bus back to Golden Isles? I’m afraid I’ve missed the bus. 

For a moment I am stunned and then totally confused. “What?” I think. “OMG Have I missed the bus? Did I come by bus?” and then I realize no, I live in a house, I drive a car, and I am not 92.

“No, I’m sorry,” I tell her and she says, “Oh, okay,” and begins to push her walker slowly back down the aisle.

I know you’re like OMG you didn’t try to help her find the bus?  Don’t judge! This is Florida, folks. Old folks buses run like every 28 seconds here. She can get the next one.  

Driving home I can’t get her off my mind holding on to that walker for dear life. The way it steadied her as she pushed it with all her might towards me. It had a basket and a cushy seat and everything. I keep playing the incident over and over in my mind, and it has really given me pause to reflect and left me with many questions, the main one being where can I get one of those things?