I’ve mentioned here, at least once a month, I am perpetually 12 years old. Most men are. It’s a fact! (the queen of England doesn’t know her A-B-C’s.)
All you grown-up males can deny this statement all you want (about being 12, not the Queen not knowing her alphabet), but deep down you know this to be true.
Last Sunday, after dinner at my parents, Denton and I stopped by Giant Eagle to pick up provisions for the week. Not that it really matters, but I worked in this grocery store, oh, about 29 years ago. Back then it was called Bi-Rite.
To shop there, maybe you had to speak two languages or write with both hands. Maybe you had to have sex with men and women. I’m not sure why it was named the way it was. I suppose Frank Taynor thought he was being clever. He was not. I can say that now, as I suppose he’s dead at this point – oh, and I haven’t worked there for 27 years.
So, while Denton was picking out produce or something, I was rearranging the Sue Grafton books.
Yes, Denton actually found me and caught me doing it. He shook his head and walked away. I can’t really blame him for that reaction. My reaction? I just chuckled to myself….and kept chuckling. And then I took a picture.
There was actually another volume on the shelf – ‘R is for…well…something’, but I didn’t want to spell ‘shirt’.
Song by: Johnny Cash