To “Just Ask Ida” newbies, welcome. And to those of you who’ve been with me all along, welcome back. It’s been two weeks since we visited, and you and me have some catching up to do. Seems like I’ve been wicked busy, but it’s that summer sort of busy, you know, where it feels like you’re on the go all the time, but don’t have much to show for it?
Anyways, it’s been “hotter than Hades” here in Mahoosuc Mills. I’ve heard that more times than I can count while cashiering down to the A&P. This is from the same folks (no need to name names) who complain about the snow, the mud, the black flies and the tourists, depending on the season. Complaining is what seems to keep these folks goin’, so this summer’s non-stop heat and humidity has been a whinin’ bonanza.
Now, these are the same folks who managed to get their kickers in a twist about last winter’s non-winter. The rest of us were countin’ our blessings, and these naysayers are spoutin’ doom and gloom.
“Ida,” they’d tell me, “there a reason we’re not getting a lot of snow. Global warming.” Or “We gotta get snow eventually. It’s comin’, and it ain’t gonna be pretty.” And, swear to God, someone actually said this, ”End of days, Ida. End of days.”
To each his own, right? But sometimes, I admit, I’m tempted to shut off my register light when I see one of one of these Negative Nellie’s comin’ my way. Otherwise, I just love my job down to the ‘ol A&P, and we have more drama than you’d think.
Like last Thursday, Yvette Plourde made quite a mess in the dairy aisle. See, our summer stock boy, Frankie, piled the eggs too high. Well, not for him. He must be 6’4” in his stocking feet. Now, I’m a little challenged in the height department myself, but Yvette is short. I mean, could-be-an-old-Catholic-nun kind of short. Four foot nothin’ and stubborn as all get out. Well, Yvette wanted them brown eggs, way up top. Why she didn’t ask someone for help, I don’t know. But up she went, scalin’ the shelves. She had her heart set on a dozen brown eggs, and she got ‘em and more, all over her newly permed hair and the front of her “World’s Best Grandma” t-shirt. Oh God, what a mess!
“Don’t move, Yvette,” Bobby Francoeur yells. “That floor’s slippery as an eel in a barrel full of snot!” Bobby may be retired, but as an ex-cop, he still delights in takin’ charge, getting Frankie to bring him some paper towels which he lay down for Yvette to walk across. I don’t know if it was just me or what, but Bobby seemed to hold onto Yvette’s hand a little longer than he needed to once she was on solid ground. To be developed, I hope. Both of ‘em lost their spouses awhile back, and you’re never too old to tango, in my opinion.
Even with the air-conditioner blastin’ in our bedroom, though, it’s hard to work up a head of steam in that department. Don’t the weather just take it out of you? Come evening, ‘bout all Charlie and me have a hankerin’ for is a Peanut Buster Parfait. (I hope we’re not the only ones.) But “good sleepin’ weather” will be here before we know it. Meantime, a Peanut Buster ain't half bad!
That’s it for now. Catch you on the flip side!
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