"You've Got a Nice Box"

I have a confession: I use one of those shopping carts. You know, the black ones with the big wheels at the back and the small wheels at the front. You've seen many old people with them, some ferrying small lap dogs. Others carrying stashes of cat food, kitty litter, budgie food, or live crabs, bleeding chicken legs, or salted fish. There is that bag lady whose cart is full of bags and probably something dead.

The holes in the cart always caused me problems. I'd lose cans on the pavement, so I placed a box inside. One glorious day, I got an impressively large box from No Frills that fit perfectly. It made my shopping easier. Suddenly, I became the envy of the old people. I detected murmuring while shopping some time ago at No Fills. I felt a gaze of the hot and tired eyes upon me. I turned and found three old ladies looking at me. It was 100 degrees outside and they were all wearing floor-length winter coats. One said, perhaps too longingly, "you've got a nice box." I worried that they were about swarm me. I moved towards the potato chips, their eyes following me.

I remembered those days when I used to stand in line at banks. For some reason, a retired person always ended up in line behind me, breathing down my neck. Well, they were too short to really breath down my neck, but there were definitely breathing down my shorts. I felt mushy breasts pushing into my back. I gather they thought that pushing me would make the line move faster. I stood my ground and even pushed back, adjusted my back pack to put some space between them and me. I still felt pressure against my back. I turned around a few times and glared. That is why I was an early adopter of banking machines and internet banking. I needed my space.

I do have a nice box, thank you very much. And no, you can't have it.

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