Shots with Strangers

He leaned toward the edge of my shopping cart and with his eyebrows raised asked, “Eggs?” It was the second time he’d said it, but the first time I’d been oblivious.

Honestly, I was in a fog, looking at my list as I headed toward the milk.
“Yah, man,” I replied. The lady with him said, “I like her already!”

There was a second man in their party (and I mean that in every sense of the word — I could feel it).

I didn’t point or give them a polite, “Over there.” Oh, no. Not me. Not in my little grocery store where I’m the lady nobody wants to get behind because her cart is loaded at 9:30 on a Friday night, and she’s way too chatty with the cashiers (one of whom asked a few weeks ago, “Who does their shopping this late on a Friday?”).

I walked five steps to the eggs and did a Fred Astaire slide, arms wide and sideways, with a “Tah-dah!”

“Oh,” the lady said, “We have to take her with us.” I told her my chickens weren’t yet laying, but if they were, I’d have them follow me out to the house. We hooted and parted ways — until they wound up behind me in line. Thank goodness, the last of my load was clearing the belt.

“We like her,” the lady told the cashier (who, by the way, had just heard my story about being gone for six days to help my niece with infant twins while their daddy was on a business trip). “We’re taking her with us.” I regretted not hollering, “By the pickles!” when I overheard them hunting for ketchup between the eggs and checkout. The store was nearly empty so it wouldn’t have alarmed very many people.

So out I went to load my haul into my hubby’s truck. As I put away my cart I overheard her telling her two friends to be careful about the “safety” and something “firing” as they loaded their trunk.

If you don’t know, I shoot. I outshot all the dudes in my CPL class. So instead of being afraid, I suddenly liked these people more.

I walked over to their vehicle, yelling, “Hey, kids?!” I told them I wished we lived in a world where I really could go with them, but had to get home. That’s when she pulled out the bag of baby liquor bottles.

“You have to have a shot with us,” she said. “We’re not from here. We’re going to a wedding.”
“We’re going to get arrested,” I said. (Why am I always so paranoid?)
They all laughed.
“Here’s a cherry (something),” she said.
I blurted out, “I hate cherry — oh, wait, where are my manners? I don’t care for cherry, thank you; that’s what my mom taught me to say.”

We weren’t five feet from their vehicle and she yelled at the guys, “She hates cherry too!”

They came over and we huddled around the bag of baby booze bottles like a bunch of preteen troublemakers.

She picked out something else that was acceptable to me and broke the seal. They all grabbed whatever. We gave a little toast and I told them I had three words for a marriage that lasts the test of time: Forgiveness. Tolerance. Compromise.

I told them the acronym is like the Federal Telecommunications Commission or something — so NOT what I meant. I usually use the Federal Trade Commission to help people remember it. (These guys clearly were going to need something to remember the letters.)

She nudged one of the guys and said, “You’re getting married next year so you’re going to have to remember that.” He reached out and hugged me. Then she hugged me.

I started to put the baby booze bottle in my pocket, stopped and said, “Do you want this?” She did. I miss them already. I want to take them to the gun club to shoot before they leave town.

Can you help me find my newfound friends?