Every Sunday afternoon I go to Publix. And every Sunday afternoon, Tom* bags my groceries. I get in Tom's line on purpose, because he always makes me smile.
Tom is developmentally disabled. He always remembers my name, however, and provides a running commentary on my grocery choices. My conversations with Tom generally consist of him asking me the following questions "Did you try this ice cream before? Did you like it? Did you try this cereal before? Did you like it?" Occasionally, when I've chosen a particularly spectacular item Tom will high-five me. And Tom is strong.
This past Sunday I had a different exchange with Tom.
My purchases consisted of plum baby food (for plum cake, thank me for that delicious recipe later) Johnson's Baby Wash (because my skin is just that sensitive) and Pampers Flushable Wipes (because I'm very hygienic).
Tom put those items into my bag, then peered inside. He took out the wipes and baby food and held them up. "You must have a little baby at home" he said.
I wasn't sure if I wanted to get into the explanation for each item, I didn't know if it would confuse Tom or if the lady in line behind me tapping her foot at my seven hundred and thirty three coupons (I saved 60 dollars, lady) would be even more irritated at a long response so I just nodded. I did. I nodded. I nodded thinking that Tom would resume asking me about my choice of toothpaste. But he did not.
"How old is your baby?" he asked. Crap. Now I had to decide whether or not to explain that I didn't really have a baby or stick with my lie. I decided to stick with my lie. I know. I feel bad. I was really caught off guard y'all.
"Um, one?" I answered haltingly, feeling terrible about the lie but too committed to turn back.
"What is your baby's name?" he asked. I paused for a second, thinking that I was a horrible person if I actually made up a child's name, when he continued "Wait. Don't tell me. I'm just going to call your baby Terrific. I think that's a great name."
"It is a great name, I told him, a much better name than any name I could have thought of" relieved that at least part of the conversation was true.
We walked out to the car and he began talking about my car. He liked that it was green but he liked trucks better. I sighed with relief that I didn't have to keep up the baby charade, since I already felt like a total tool.
That's when Tom peered in my back window and asked "Hey, where's the car seat?"
