eggnog is for christmas parties and this one has to be perfect, she says. pick up some and a box of crackers on your way home. she cares what our friends think, even though our friends are stupid and want to watch the big chill every year and get high.
the year end wrap up editions slump in the magazine racks along the checkout line. i notice them when i look away from the blinding holiday sweater in front of me with jingling bells on the shoulder. is that all you have, the sweater turns and asks, just the two things? i nod at the eggnog and crackers in my hands. she waves me in front of her. you go ahead. she smells like old lady perfume, the kind my mother would spritz to cover the alcohol on her breath and in her pores.
thank you, i reply. i place my items on the belt and grab a bottle out of the impulse fridge. i twist the cap off and soda sprays everywhere, a forceful bubbly jetstream that covers both of us. the wide eyed cashier slowly calls for a cleanup at her register. i apologize to everyone for choosing the wrong soda and purchase the sticky items. i apologize to the sweater but not the perfume.
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