Mondays with Millie (cookie if you get this one)

We all have goals in life – ambitions, aspirations, and dreams, aimlessly floating around in our head like a springtime dandelion seed. Some are lofty; others are lame. Naturally, since I’m a writer (insert attitude and ego), I aspire to write a book. A memoir? Perhaps. My dating life – and family – would provide more than enough material. However, memoirs are a dime a dozen these days. F*cked up childhoods, overcoming illness, married a murderer…yeah, yeah, yeah. Save it for your overpriced shrink. No, I’ve decided that I will write a novel, peppered with snippets from my own life. It will be marvelous, and catapult me into early retirement.
In fact, I’ve already found my real-life muse: Millie. Okay, so I don’t actually know her name (minor detail); however, in my story, she will be Millie. And she will be amazing. As long as I don’t back my car into her again, as I nearly did on Tuesday.
You see, right now, twice a day – morning and sunset – Millie walks past my house. Accessorized in ridiculously oversized shades and forearm crutches, she hoofs it as fast as her eighty-plus body will allow her to. Even though I can’t see her eyes, I can still feel their determination and confidence.
Millie intrigues me. She strikes me as bold, brassy, and sassy. I’m flooded with curiosity about her life, undoubtedly filled with adventure, adversity – and amor. I imagine her younger years were spent being strikingly beautiful, yet daring and intelligent. She’s probably lived ten lifetimes in one.
In my novel, a twenty-something young woman amidst a quarter-life crisis hits Millie with her car – but just barely. Millie gives her attitude, and punishes the woman by making her come weed her garden. The two gradually form an unlikely, but strong, friendship. Millie teaches her about life, and gives her inspiration and direction. And yes, because it is a novel which will later turn into an Oscar-winning film (starring Judy Dench and Scarlett Johanson, naturally)…Millie dies. But her legacy lives on in the rejuvenated young woman who’s finally able to let go of fear, and live out her dream. You’ll have to read the book to find out more. :)

Cleanup: Infidelity on Aisle 5

I have a confession: I cheated on SuperTarget. With Cub Foods. I know - it's horrible. It's like when Hugh Grant cheated on Elizabeth Hurley with that nasty prostitute. The smell of newspaper coupons had enticed me - as did my dwindling bank account. In a moment of weakness, temptation took over, and I gave in to the curious thrill of the unknown, the excitement of the unfamiliar. Looking back, I now shudder in shame.
It was awful. The garish, unforgiving fluorescent lights that turned my skin a sickly shade of yellow. The barely audible, yet painfully boring music. As I browsed up and down the aisles, a growing sense of guilt and regret filled my ugly, archaic grocery cart. An old lady with moccasins and crooked knitted sweater giggles - to herself. As I hurried by her, I caught a whiff of...wait, is that cat urine? Off in the distance, I see an old man fishing out shelled peanuts with his wrinkly, dry hands. He licks his fingers, then proceeds to the next aisle. I start to panic. Looking around, I realized I was by far the youngest - and clearly most sane - shopper in the store. As I enter the cracker aisle, I see Cat Piss Lady again, then quickly dart off, sacrificing my French Onion Sun Chips for the week - a longtime favorite, but too risky right now. I blindly browse each aisle, cursing Cub's illogical aisle system. I frantically search for the rest of my items, fearful of what - or, worse, who - each aisle would reveal. I felt like Ms. Pac Man, waiting for the next ghost to come gobble me up.
The clerk, painstakingly slow and apathetic, did not even bag my groceries. He seemed to be sweating a lot (probably from the stupid lights) , so I was actually relieved. Bread, milk, fruit...I didn't care. I rapidly stuffed the bag and fled to freedom - but not without first being bombarded by an obese child attempting to win a grotesque panda bear from the crane machine. The panda's eyes seemed to be staring at me, mocking me - or were they? I think the lights and stagnant air were clouding my mental clarity. I dash through the sliding door, and am welcomed by sunlight and a slight breeze. I sigh in relief.
Like most adulteresses, I felt guilty; dirty. Soiled in smutty shame, I showered the moment I got home. I'm sorry SuperTarget. I'll never go to Cub Foods again.