I’ve not been feeling well lately.  Nothing catastrophic, just a bit of a summer bug, I think.  So, I dragged my sorry self out to the grocery store. I figured it would do me some good to get out in the fresh air and off the couch, plus, I really needed some diet 7-up and saltine crackers.

I’m standing in the last aisle of the store (seriously, why do they put the soda and the crackers way at the end by the tampons and dog food?), deciding between fat-free and regular multi-grain saltines for a good couple minutes and noticed a woman out of the corner of my eye, perusing the soda.  To paint a picture for you, she was a heavyset black woman, wearing skin-tight orange stretch pants, a poncho, a knit beanie, flip flops and sunglasses.  She had her own unique style I guess. She reminded me a lot of Big Shirl from What’s Happening only with Paris Hilton-style paparazzi glasses — for all that press we get in the snack aisle. Anyway, she turns to me out of nowhere and exclaims, “Giiiiiiiiiiiiiirrrrrrrrl!  Why they trippin’ like dat?”

Startled, I looked around and smiled at her in that, “I’m not entirely sure what you’re on about and I am friendly, but please do not encroach on my personal space” sort of way.  She started going off on this rant about how soda costs nothing to make and how could those “soda folks be all frontin’ like dat!”?  I was polite and laughed where appropriate. I was cordial while she went on about how she got the “2 litter” apple green tea for only “fiddy cent” at the dollar store and “these co-prit mothafuckas are robbin’ us!  Just robbin’ and frontin’!”

Apparently, the “frontin’” didn’t sit too well with my new friend because she started shuffling all the 2 “litters” all over the shelf, putting things back in different places, determined to undermine the “soda-frontin’ mofos”, as she put it.  After a few seconds of this, I wished her a good day and tried to scoot before she roped me into some crazy Thelma & Louise crime rampage that might leave me flashing a Coca-Cola truck driver or taking the store manager hostage over an overpriced bottle of Yoo-Hoo.  I’m not going off a cliff for Big Shirl.

As I finally turned the corner, she was moving on to the other end of the aisle and she stopped and called out, “You know, you cool, sugar.  Wanna help me mess up some of that toilet paper?”

Tempting… but no, thank you.