Hello Inkers!

I loved seeing your Grannys! I spent the week enjoying your beautiful art and perfecting my old-lady qualities like quilting and talking to strangers and buying antique mixing bowls. (If Jake asks, those bowls were to fully immerse myself in the Inktober Granny experience. Despite what he says, I am not addicted.)

Early on this week, I was running to the grocery store with my 15-year-old to pick up a few things to perk up my weekly menu. Our local store is small but close, so we stopped there and as we entered the nearly-empty produce room, Penny whispered “Hey, isn’t that Larry?”

Two things you need to know: 1- Larry is our cheerful, older, across-the-street neighbor, who we’ve really enjoyed getting to know since we moved in a few months ago. Larry, and his sweet wife, Brenda, are awesome. 2-The produce room has an “in” door and an “out” door and is very compact.

We walk through the “in” door and are standing about 10 feet from Larry so I a-little-too-loudly exclaim, “Larry! How’s it going?” About halfway through this sentence leaving my mouth, Penny and I both realize it is indeed, Not Larry. My question ends in sort of a cough-choke and I can hear all the air leave Penny’s lungs in horror. Zero other people are in the produce room so Not Larry looks up and gives me a weird “I’ve gotta be polite” smile. He does not say “Oh, you may have me mistaken for someone else.” and I do not say “Oops sorry, you look like my neighbor.” No, that would be the normal thing to do. I can’t just turn around and leave, I’m trapped, so I march right ahead like I’m not the most awkward human ever born. The problem with this, is the room is so small that now it looks like I’m walking right AT Not Larry. You should also know, I’m not a small person; I’ve got a good 6 inches on Not Larry, I’ve got my “Elmo coat” on (an ankle-length, hooded, bright red puffer coat that makes me look like a Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade Balloon,) and we’ve already established I’m crazy here, so the look on his face starts to hover somewhere around “Do I run?”

I quickly scoot past Not Larry, grab 2 or 3 of the first veggies I come to, and flee like the coward I am, with Penny scurrying to keep up. We giggle like mad and hide near the mayonnaise for a moment to compose ourselves, but when we finally pull ourselves together enough to turn the corner and continue on, who do I nearly collide with? Yep, Not Larry. I’m pretty sure a very loud “GAH!” comes out of my mouth at the same time I hear Not Larry gasp. I don’t even think I said “excuse me”, I just swerve around him and high-tail it out of there, running for my life, leaving Penny to fend for herself. I’m now charging down the aisles like a giant, red-sleeping-bag-wearing maniac in the Food Lion, trying to remember what’s on my list but not really caring, I just want OUT of this store. Penny finally catches up and we pay for our stuff but not before having to hide from Not Larry two more times. I have never been so happy to be FREE of a grocery store.

As we’re power-walking through the parking lot towards our crusty old Suburban, humiliation still rising off me in waves, Penny turns back and, because she likes to see me squirm, yells out “Bye, Larry!”

Now, you may not be a weirdo like me, and you may not often find yourself in self-imposed peril, (like the time I got myself stuck in the ice room at Circle K,) but I’d love to your idea of TRAPPED. It can be literal, metaphorical, light-hearted or serious, but push yourself to expand your skills and share it with someone.

Love you all, and if a big red sleeping bag lady calls you Barbara this week, it’s probably just me.

-Alison

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