it still hurt.
Startled at a car horn’s insistent demand to move her ass out of the primo spot, Mary pulled away from the curb and gave an apologetic wave toward a brown sedan idling in the street behind her. Hell, even the headlights looked angry. She fully understood the grinding need to turn your kids over to someone else for a while. Far be it for her to deny relief for another harried parent.
One block down and a quick left brought her into the Bagwell Grocery Mart parking lot. She clued to the huge mistake when facing a wall of parked cars.
Shit. Wednesday coupon day. Stupid move, dumb butt.
A glance at her clothes brought a thought of turning around, yet her foot pressed the accelerator anyway.
No one gives a shit what you look like, Mary. Get in, get out, and get gone. Grow a pair. You’re such a damn sap!
Forced to park out in the north forty where all the wayward grocery carts seemed to congregate, Mary grabbed the first one, cursed, and sifted through several more before finding wheels dancing to the same tune. Frustration set in as continuous rubbing thighs pulled the clingy shorts material higher between her legs with each step.
Pissed, she glanced around, grabbed a fistful of wayward cloth when seeing no one in the near vicinity, and yanked. She repeated the embarrassing move three more times before reaching the front doors. A nagging, unwanted thought struck her brain.
Maybe I should take up Audrey’s offer to work out with her at ten before this damn pudge gets any worse. I’ll miss The Price Is Right, but what the hell? She grunted and shook her head. Why bother? You’ll just eat it right back on.
Cart used as a battering ram, as much as a shield, to push through the cluster fuck of bodies trying to save a dime, Mary battled her way to the lotion aisle. After an eye roll at the silly woman still in her house shoes and scrounging around on the bottom shelf for the cheap stuff, she stared at the dark-blue Nivea bottle for a few beats.
Well, look at this shit, will you?
It mocked her with the sleek curved side resembling a woman’s shapely hip.
Why is Jason so concerned about his fingers all the sudden? Does he want to make sure they’re soft as he runs them over his mistress’s flawless skin?
Gut clenching, Mary backed up and muttered, “Fuck him. He can buy his own shit.”
Frown owning her brow, she experienced a round of dizziness as the jostling crowd of unfamiliar bodies continued brushing against hers.
“What was I going to pick up?”
She flinched at another unyielding elbow shove.
“Oh yeah.”
Two aisles over, Mary grabbed a bottle of bleach and package of yellow gloves, still stumped as to why the men in her life couldn’t seem to aim their damn piss inside the toilet bowl.
Maybe it’s some type of innate drive to flop their dicks around and mark their territory, she mused.
Laughter erupted from her throat as a vivid image slammed into her frontal lobe. She hovered her naked ass over Jason’s favorite boots and dribbled a little stream of pee down the side before he jumped from the shower and lit out the door to God knows where.
I have every right to mark my territory too, damn it!
Her shoulders slumped, the imagined victory short-lived and leaving a bitter taste in her mouth.
Does he think I’m stupid? He claimed his department on forced overtime for four days in a row now, but Audrey’s husband worked the same shift. Whenever she called to chitchat, she could hear Lou’s deep voice somewhere in the background. He was with his family, so where the hell was Jason? A plan hatched to follow him, but the hassle of loading the kids up and enduring their nonstop questions and never-ending battles tempered the burning need. Attempts to relax a few muscles failed.
Get a grip and quit finding problems where there is none.
The marathon battle across five more aisles destroyed all progress toward a happy attitude. With growing intent, she snatched a carton of Blue Bell ice cream and children’s cold medicine. The kids would be in bed by seven even if she had to drug their little butts.
Focused on the ten items or less checkout line, Mary’s ribs slammed against the cart handle. Stunned at the aggressive move by a tall blond flying out of the makeup aisle, she stood her ground despite the throbbing pain. The idiot with perfect hair, flat belly, and clothes not found hanging on a rack at Walmart didn’t even bother to shoot over an apologetic look as she continued scraping the buggy along the side of her own.
She acts as if I don’t even exist. What a bitch!
The nitwit glided up to the grinning checkout dude more than eager to serve her—Daryl to be exact, if his nametag was correct.
Eyes narrowed into thin slits, Mary studied the woman unloading four individual wrapped prime cuts of beef, frozen broccoli, expensive shampoo, conditioner, eyeliner, mascara, nail polish, styling gel, and a People magazine.
Oh, hell no. Way over the limit.
She surged forward and then bit her tongue.
Screw it. I could be back in the car by time I make a point. Another time. Another place.
Even the delightful image of the asshole’s bleeding body rolling under the van tires couldn’t stop the swell of anger heating her face.
Little Miss Privileged using her looks to get ahead in life. Typical. It flies by fast, honey. Let me toss a little advice, you blond bimbo. Better start learning some manners to go with your future wrinkled face.
Still fuming, Mary saw the smitten boy eyeballing the woman’s tight ass as she leaned over to place the two bags into her cart. The fumbling shove of her own meager four items across the scanner came with no direct eye contact afforded prissy bitch. She gained surprise when he looked over to throw out monotone, rehearsed lines of bullshit more than obvious he repeated day in and day out until they no longer connected to his brain.
“Did you notice our savings day bonanza signs? Tomatoes are on special this week. Everything’s fresh at Bagwell’s Market. You owe twenty-four, eighty-eight.”
The kid slumped against the register, bored expression in place while waiting for a card to slide through a slot or some cash to drop on the rubber conveyer so he could push her out of his life. The highlight of his bleak existence had just occurred, so it was all downhill from this point.
Brow cocked in indignation at the attitude, Mary knew he didn’t give a shit if she had an opportunity at fresh produce. Might even piss him off if she acted delighted and made him wait while she browsed around and found one perfect tomato to bring back to the register. She couldn’t stop the low, husky growl erupting as he repeated the register total to hurry her along to oblivion. Her neck heated.
Hey, you asked. Don’t get your boxers in a wad because I gave it some thought, mister.
Lips tight in anger, Mary opened the Louise Vuitton knockoff purse her sister gifted two Christmas’s ago and looked inside. Mouth parting in surprise, every bit of angst seeped out of her pores, leaving her feeling light and invigorated. The
