Ran into George's mom yesterday afternoon at the grocery store. Mrs. Jones was dressed to the nines and looking pretty for a woman of eighty-five.
"How's George?" I asked her, almost shy in bringing the subject up.
"Baby, he be doin' well," she replied after giving me a hug.
She didn't tell me much about what was ailing George. I don't think she knew much with George probably hiding the worst news from her. I later learned that George doesn't have full blown cirrhosis. He is just at the early stages with a decreased liver function. He has fatty deposits in his liver. It seems George's carefree days of constant drinking have caught up to him.
I finally gathered all my shopping items. A loaf of french bread, real butter, and the stuff to make a homemade marinara sauce. I was having garlic bread to be dipped into the marinara. I've been a carbohydrate junky lately.
"Italian?" the lady at the checkout asked me with a big and welcoming smile, trying to make small talk.
"Irish," I said with a Cheshire grin, pointing to my strawberry blonde hair and fair complexion.
I have heard my father often tell the story of my ancestors who minted coins for the King, thus our last name. He loves to brag about us formerly Royal subjects. I am of the school of thought that there must have been a good reason we quit minting and moved to the New World.
This having money and shopping is contagious. I left the grocery store and threw my food in the back of my CR-V. I walked down to the dollar store to buy some colored lights to put on my shrubbery outside. To my good fortune, the lights were five strings for ten dollars. I bought those and an extension cord. It is going to be a Christmas Vacation sort of Christmas this year. Now, if I can only find that tacky and sex exuding leg lamp and tasseled shade from A Christmas Story, then my Christmas would be complete.