So, last night I'm in the grocery store, pushing my cart toward the exit. In walks this little old lady. When I say little, I mean tiny. Five feet tall...when wearing heels...and less than a hundred pounds. Itty bitty. Anyway, I notice her because I see this large curler peeking out from under her scarf.
You know the curler I'm talking about. Those older sticky ones that your grandmother used to put in her hair at night so her bangs would be curled the next morning. Of course I immediately thought of my own Nana. I couldn't help but smile. Memories of watching my Nana brush her hair and show me how to pin the curler so it wouldn't fall out in her sleep played in my head.
Nostalgia is a strong catalyst. I could even smell the flowery scent of my Nana's lotion.
Until the little old lady in the grocery store walked past me. I'm not sure if she washed her hair in a tub full of alcohol or drank the bath liquor, but holy WOW! I got a buzz from the fumes wafting off her. Thankfully, she kept moving and I could finally breathe again. I turned, not sure if I'd imagined the whole thing.
Than, as she made her way through the produce section, I watched other people smile when they spotted her...then cover their mouth as they choked on the alcohol fumes. Yep. Little old lady was plastered. And walking just fine. Which brought a scary realization: she drove to the store. Didn't see that one coming!