Mary Panza in Suffern

To say the one thing my mother taught us how to do well was food shopping would be an understatement. With that said, here was the last two hours of my life.

I had a very rare slow day with massage. I have had more than one client say to me that it is easier to get an audience with the pope than an appointment with me. I am not bragging. I have been in my profession for nearly 15 years and I love to work. Anyways, I make the casual comment to my sister that I have the day off.

Mary Sally 2: Oh good we can go shopping for Thanksgiving.

Me: Ummm Okay?

I wanted to stay home but it is a rare day when our schedules jive so I take off my mental patient sleep outfit (which are grey sweatpants, a tan Ah Bra, purple tank and black sweat jacket) put on an equally crazy outfit (I replaced the sweatpants for jeans and took off my black wool hat that I wear when I don’t want to turn the heat up) and met her at the store. She was primed and ready to go. As per usual, before we even step into the store she sees someone she knows. A lady she used to work with that now makes doll scrubs for American girl dolls and monograms them with the little girl’s names on them. She promptly gets a discount on two pairs and has Dr. Panza monogrammed on them. She also steals the masks that you find when you walk into a doctor’s office and are supposed to put on if you have a cough and makes them into masks for the dolls. Mind you, this is BEFORE we walk into the store. So we walk in and in no particular order fill a cart so heavy that I can barely move it. I always end up pushing the carts even when I go shopping with 3b. He is a germaphobe and will pull his shirtsleeves down over his hands if I ask him to push and then makes a squinty face as if someone just pooped on the surface he is touching. This would be followed by hand washing and clothes changing when we get home. As for me pushing the cart today, it gave my sister freedom to get aisles ahead of me and then scream until I caught up with her. Here is the thing about Panza women: we don’t move fast unless there is shopping to be done, a meal to be cooked or a diaper to be changed. Today was like a try out for the Olympic team. Today, we moved fast because we had a mission. Other than that you can go shit in your hat. (One of my mother’s favorite sayings)

We get done and are checking out. She goes to pay and can’t figure out the way to change from debit to credit. I suddenly have a PTSD flashback to my mother. She tried to use her and it would be too confusing and then she ended up writing a check anyway. Now, in MS2’s defense, she decides to write a check instead and the lady at the checkout keeps asking for more information. She asks for her date of birth, he phone number and then her phone number again, until we are both ready to scream. We walk out of the store.

Me: Good God, I could score acid quicker.

MS2: Please, I could buy a firearm with no questions asked.

Both statements may or may not be true. The point is that I love going grocery shopping. I love the fact that I know everything that all the people coming to my house on Thanksgiving like. I love the fact that it is my holiday and I get to set a nice table. I love the fact that my sister and I will look at everything left over and laugh because we over did and be grateful in our heart of hearts that we can. It is not about excess or greed. No one that has ever entered her house or mine has gone without. We never waste and can make anything outta anything. It is a gift. Happy Thanksgiving.