I had to go grocery shopping today because of Soccer-Mom weekend. Rats. I really hate that. One of my fondest desires is for food to magically appear in my kitchen… It does for everyone else in the house, I guess. So, I put on my headphones and some tunes and did my best to grocery shop without starting to sing. Let me set the scene a bit; at the market where I shop, the average age of the shoppers is about 85 I think. Harried moms are common, though. (Is there any other kind of mom?) Occasionally a college student sneaks in. Usually, they’re in the liquor aisle. Or buying chips.
There I am in the produce section and I’m studying the the pineapples and singing under my breath. (I hope.) I’m smiling all dorky because I like the song etc. I look up and a twenty-something god is walking right past me. He’s tall with dark hair and tanned arms, wearing a white short sleeved t-shirt with and carrying his basket high to avoid bonking some old lady in the head. He has muscles bulging all over the arm holding the basket. And it’s obvious he’s the kind of god who doesn’t realize he’s a god. He was looking at me because, alas, I’m pretty sure I wasn’t really singing under my breath very well. I’m pretending he was thinking I’m hot for Soccer Mom singing dork. Wildly inappropriate thoughts flashed through my head. I think I was mentally worked up on account of Sunday we took the kids to see Game Plan in which The Rock displays a damned awesome physique. Trust me, there’s no other reason to see that movie.
Anyway shopping today wasn’t so bad.
Now I’m trying to work on Scandal. I had a great idea for a new scene pop into my head today. I’m going to rewrite a chapter to add that, but time’s a wasting…
