when you needed them.
Dougie spun around to give me the back view. His anatomy showed itself in high definition. "Not bad, huh?" he said over his shoulder.
"Jamie!" my mother shrieked.
I scooped up the phone and dropped it in the cradle. She'd have to learn to deal with rejection.
Dougie turned around and used all eleven fingers to cup his genitals. "We got any mineral ice? I think I strained my groin."
He'd better not offer double-time if I put it on for him.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
"Okay, I've been giving this some thought." Sherri brought her three-wheeled shopping cart to a shuddering halt in the produce department. The perfume of forty different fruits and vegetables assailed us. I generally avoided the produce department, since it made me feel inadequate. Too many things I didn't recognize. Starting with Sherri.
She sized up the area. "They say vegetables are very sensual, so maybe I should hang out here for awhile. You know, feel up some cucumbers or squash or something." She took a look around. "What does squash look like?"
I tugged down the sleeves of my sweatshirt against the arctic blast of the supermarket air conditioning. I was only shopping for some food, not for a man, so I had no need for the heavy artillery. Sherri, on the other hand, was wearing her nightclub finest, a black leather miniskirt with a black bustier and high-heeled knee-high boots. She looked like an escapee from a sex dungeon.
I'd heard rumors about Thursday singles night at the supermarket being wildly popular, but I'd never seen proof of it. Probably because my shopping policy was get in after the crowd, make a direct hit on the ice cream case, and get out fast. Looking around now, I didn't exactly see Chippendale dancers stocking up on cat food and Wonder Bread. I saw eighty-something couples inching along clinging to their carts and harried single moms tugging litters of three-year-olds behind them. The produce department was desolate. I suspected Sherri's chance for success was as well.
"Why don't you try going up and down the aisles," I said. "I don't think too many single men hang out by the squash."
"Maybe the beer," Sherri agreed. "Which aisle is that?"
I sighed. What could you expect from a thirty-one-year-old whose parents did all the household grocery shopping? "They don't sell beer in supermarkets. That's illegal in New Jersey."
"Well, that's stupid," Sherri said, apparently overlooking the fact that this entire exercise was something less than bright.
I edged away. "If you need me, I'll be in the…" I fled down the nearest aisle. Fortunately, it was the cake mix aisle, and Duncan Hines was on sale. Anyone could whip up a box cake, so I dumped a lemon, a French vanilla, and a chocolate into my basket and went looking for canned frosting. It wasn't on my list or on sale, but it didn't have to be. I picked up two cans anyway. I didn't know about Sherri's success, but I was beginning to think my guardian angel had led me to Aisle Eight.
That's when I rounded a corner and noticed my sister over by the prepackaged cold cuts, chatting with a blond man. I ducked behind the end cap and peeked around the bottled soda for a better look. I couldn't say much for her execution. She was holding the biggest cucumber I'd ever seen, letting it rest suggestively against her jawline, a living trailer for Sherri Does the Supermarket. I cringed watching her. She had to be rescued from herself, but I hated to barge in when this one seemed to have potential and the right hair color. Tan slacks, navy blazer, even a tie. Respectable. Standing so close to Sherri in her leather getup, he looked like a vice cop.
Sherri nodded and said something and smiled into the cucumber, and ten seconds later I found out that's exactly what he was. He reached back into his waistband and whipped out a pair of handcuffs that glinted nastily when he slapped them on her wrists.
An elderly couple with matching silver hair stopped in their tracks beside the
Dougie spun around to give me the back view. His anatomy showed itself in high definition. "Not bad, huh?" he said over his shoulder.
"Jamie!" my mother shrieked.
I scooped up the phone and dropped it in the cradle. She'd have to learn to deal with rejection.
Dougie turned around and used all eleven fingers to cup his genitals. "We got any mineral ice? I think I strained my groin."
He'd better not offer double-time if I put it on for him.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
"Okay, I've been giving this some thought." Sherri brought her three-wheeled shopping cart to a shuddering halt in the produce department. The perfume of forty different fruits and vegetables assailed us. I generally avoided the produce department, since it made me feel inadequate. Too many things I didn't recognize. Starting with Sherri.
She sized up the area. "They say vegetables are very sensual, so maybe I should hang out here for awhile. You know, feel up some cucumbers or squash or something." She took a look around. "What does squash look like?"
I tugged down the sleeves of my sweatshirt against the arctic blast of the supermarket air conditioning. I was only shopping for some food, not for a man, so I had no need for the heavy artillery. Sherri, on the other hand, was wearing her nightclub finest, a black leather miniskirt with a black bustier and high-heeled knee-high boots. She looked like an escapee from a sex dungeon.
I'd heard rumors about Thursday singles night at the supermarket being wildly popular, but I'd never seen proof of it. Probably because my shopping policy was get in after the crowd, make a direct hit on the ice cream case, and get out fast. Looking around now, I didn't exactly see Chippendale dancers stocking up on cat food and Wonder Bread. I saw eighty-something couples inching along clinging to their carts and harried single moms tugging litters of three-year-olds behind them. The produce department was desolate. I suspected Sherri's chance for success was as well.
"Why don't you try going up and down the aisles," I said. "I don't think too many single men hang out by the squash."
"Maybe the beer," Sherri agreed. "Which aisle is that?"
I sighed. What could you expect from a thirty-one-year-old whose parents did all the household grocery shopping? "They don't sell beer in supermarkets. That's illegal in New Jersey."
"Well, that's stupid," Sherri said, apparently overlooking the fact that this entire exercise was something less than bright.
I edged away. "If you need me, I'll be in the…" I fled down the nearest aisle. Fortunately, it was the cake mix aisle, and Duncan Hines was on sale. Anyone could whip up a box cake, so I dumped a lemon, a French vanilla, and a chocolate into my basket and went looking for canned frosting. It wasn't on my list or on sale, but it didn't have to be. I picked up two cans anyway. I didn't know about Sherri's success, but I was beginning to think my guardian angel had led me to Aisle Eight.
That's when I rounded a corner and noticed my sister over by the prepackaged cold cuts, chatting with a blond man. I ducked behind the end cap and peeked around the bottled soda for a better look. I couldn't say much for her execution. She was holding the biggest cucumber I'd ever seen, letting it rest suggestively against her jawline, a living trailer for Sherri Does the Supermarket. I cringed watching her. She had to be rescued from herself, but I hated to barge in when this one seemed to have potential and the right hair color. Tan slacks, navy blazer, even a tie. Respectable. Standing so close to Sherri in her leather getup, he looked like a vice cop.
Sherri nodded and said something and smiled into the cucumber, and ten seconds later I found out that's exactly what he was. He reached back into his waistband and whipped out a pair of handcuffs that glinted nastily when he slapped them on her wrists.
An elderly couple with matching silver hair stopped in their tracks beside the
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