or adventures in vodka

checker1 and 2 behind counter.
me browsing.

them. quietly to one another.
checker2: dude, check it. she's fuckin gorgeous.
checker1: yeah, she comes in all the time.
some chatter ensues that i can't quite make out. something about asses and the way i've tied up my hair.
checker2: does she have a boyfriend?
checker1: midunno. don't think i've ever seen her in here with anyone.
shopping ensues.
me (carrying 3 kaiser rolls, 1 bottle pickled brussel sprouts with garlic, and a small block of english cheddar): these please. and a bottle of smirnoff.
checker2: hey, do you, like, have a boyfriend?
me (looking stupidly at my wedding ring then back to checker2): uuhhh. a partner. yes.
checker1: where's he at?
me: ummm. [why am i even having this conversation.] uhhh, right now, [glance at watch] ummm, i guess, london.
somewhere in here i manage to pay for my items.
checker2: no shit? whoa, what's he doin there?
me (semi-tersely): [?!!!!?!!!] ummm, my husband's an artist. and he went there on business. and also, he's british.
dead air.
checker1 to checker2 (shaking head): pfft. figures
me walking out. shaking my head.
checker2 to checker1: no shit man.


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