Complimenting Strangers and A Challenge for YOU!

Today, I crossed the vile threshold of the evil empire (i.e. Walmart).

I had just come from my appointment with my new counselor,  of which I showed up an entire half hour late for (kinda sorta not my fault.  I had  9:00 a.m. written down on my calendar, but I SWEAR the reminder call said 9:30. I should have called to verify, though).

But actually, I showed up an entire day early.   Truly, I did.

 I walked in yesterday morning at 9 a.m., bright eyed and ready to spill my guts to the unwittingly, poor gal who had agreed to take me on as a patient.  It wasn't until I saw the confused look on the face of the receptionist that I realized that it was Tuesday, not Wednesday.

So, since I had actually gotten dressed and put my face on, I decided to show it around town.  I dragged a constipated Maggie to several thrift stores, discount stores and hobby stores.

"Oooh, you have a shopping companion," said a little old lady at the Salvation Army in Daytona Beach, where I found some freaking adorable Children's Place skirts and Gymboree shirts for $1.50 each.

"An uncooperative one, yes," I said, as Maggie ~ as if on cue ~  dramatically crumpled and laid down on the sidewalk in front of the woman and refused to move.

So today, as I was wondering the aisles of the evil empire, picking out the Miralax for Maggie, I saw a girl who was wearing a fantastic cardigan.

It was hard to miss.  It was white, with a toile-ish, black pattern.  Oh, my.  It was my style.  I had to know where she got it.

I passed her in another aisle.

"Excuse me," I said.  She startled.  "I love your sweater, where did you get it?"

I do this a lot; I scare the crap out of people.

My most notable example was in a local Publix, but I think that this had to do more that I hadn't showered in several days and I looked like a homeless person.

I was also suffering from that chronic cough I had for six months this past summer, so I was on the cough medicine that made me extremely chatty and obnoxious.

I had taken several French showers to mask my stench, and I was wearing a baseball cat to hide the greasy hair.   But the clothes had been worn for several days, as I do often because....well....sometimes things are just comfortable after a day or two.  Or four.

And I wasn't expecting to walk by someone who smelled delightful.

She was an older woman and she was deep in concentration.  I should have noted that.  I walked past her and got a whiff.  I smelled a note of patchouli, and flowers, and something else.

I loved it.

I stopped my cart and backed that ass up.

"You smell wonderful,"  I exclaimed.

Seriously, I thought she was going to have a heart attack.  She nearly dropped her coupons and she made one of those faces that only are made when someone probably leaked a bit of urine in her Serenity pad.  I felt bad.  I should have apologized, but I didn't.

Instead, I continued.

"Are you wearing lotion?  Or is it your perfume?  I just love it!"

Her mouth moved for a moment and nothing came out.  When she finally spoke, she muttered something that sounded like "Angel," a perfume that I am quite familiar with, being a fan of the designer.

"Oh,"  I exclaimed.  "Thierry Mugler?"

She nodded.

"I love him!  I have "Alien."   I'll have to check "Angel" out.  It smells really nice!  Have a nice day!

I left her, recovering, in the middle of the frozen vegetable and pizza aisle.

I saw her several more times during that shopping trip, but she made beelines to move away from me, so I didn't have a chance to apologize for frightening her.

I like complimenting people, though.

If someone is wearing something that I think is pretty, I will tell her.  I also will  ask where she got it.   If someone I know looks particularly nice, I will tell her.  If a color looks nice on someone, I let her know.

I especially like doing this to strangers, even if it does scare them a little bit.  

You expect compliments from your husband, or your kids, or your family.   You don't expect them from a fellow shopper; therefore I think it makes it a little more special.

I challenge you to do it.

No, seriously.

Find something special or unique about someone.  

Don't be disingenuous...wait until you actually see something about someone that catches your eye.  Is someone wearing a broach, necklace or earrings that are particularly pretty?  Let them know!

It will probably make their day, and I guarantee that it will make you feel good, too.

Just don't do it when you haven't showered for days and look like you just ventured out of the dumpster behind the building, or are jazzed on any sort of stimulant that could be misconstrued as an illegal substance.  That is pretty much guaranteed to creep them out.

I speak from experience.

Wristcutters and The Alternative Universe, a.k.a. Walmart

My sweet baby M toddled over to me this morning. She placed her hand on my knee as I was drinking my morning coffee and very sweetly looked up into my eyes.

"Mama," she pleaded. "I don't want to go on our daily three mile jog. I would like to stay at home in the air-conditioning, watch a movie and eat leftover spaghetti for our second breakfast."

I'm just kidding. She did no such thing. She is sixteen months old and we are working on "mamma" and "daddy," let alone full sentences.

This was, however, what we did in lieu of our jog.

We had started the movie "Wristcutters: A Love Story" last night. Unimpressed with the suicides and the fact it was an indie movie, Chris was unwilling to suspend his disbelief for the remainder of the show.

With a whopping plate of spaghetti on my lap, I sat down to watch the clever little movie about an "alternate universe" to where suicides went when they died. It was hot, dusty and reminded me a lot of Barstow, California. It was a place where they went to carry out their eternities, covered in dust, scarred and unable to smile.

As I watched, I realized that later today I needed to visit our local "alternate universe," a.k.a. "Super Walmart" because I was out of my value size bottle of ibuprofen, and these headaches lately have been kicking my ass.

I try to avoid this universe with all of my might, but sometimes it is necessary... like the other evening at 9:30 when I realized that I was out of coffee and baby formula.

We were on our way home from a fiftieth wedding anniversary dinner, so I had been wearing heels for about three hours. By 9:30, I was limping and my mood was such that I very well could do some sweet-ass jujitsu moves on the first unfortunate sloth I encountered (undoubtedly, pushing a cart aimlessly while simutaneously beating a child) on my way to the coffee aisle.

We made our way with purpose, unlike 90% of the other patrons, towards the "Enter" door. The "Enter" door at which we had to wait for the apparently illiterate individuals exiting to continue through.

Finding one's item in Walmart is only part of the battle, as you may well know. When one finds the aisle that the desired item resides in, not only does one have to physically get to their item, but one needs to retrieve that item from the shelf . Upon finding the aisle, we noticed that the entire city appeared to be making a last minute run to buy coffee.

Although it was a struggle to do so, we found our items and made our way to the express checkout line, which is a misnomer in this alternative universe where it feels as if you are wading through knee deep water and everything takes ten times as long.

Thirty minutes later, Chris and I carried on our favorite conversation, entitled "Why Thoroughly Jacked Up Things Are the Way That They Are." Among our favorite topics in this conversation are: government-run agencies, Walmart, and, most recently, Suntrust Bank.

The conclusion my husband came to is that we need to love people a little more and instead of performing that upper-cut on that elderly woman who was effectively blocking the coffee I wanted from all sides (kidding), I should have reminded myself that I love her. Have I told you lately that my husband is a much better person than I?

I just don't do alternate universes very well, as they cause me too much stress and subsequent gnashing of teeth. Instead of experiencing them in real life, I would much rather watch them on television, where they are not directly affecting me.

I can sit and observe the actions and reactions of others without the repercussion of me ultimately having to take a Xanax.

"Wristcutters" wasn't for everybody. But I enjoyed it, as did my little baby "M" who thanked me with a sloppy kiss, for not taking her on the big, bad jog this morning.