Walmart has some odd ducks in there.
I was at Walmart today studying the canned fruit, which is right near an end cap. Out of the blue, a man who was walking down the main aisle stopped where I was reading the labels and said, “Excuse me.”
He was probably in his mid 50’s, about 6 feet tall. Grey hair. Glasses. Clean. Good teeth. There was nothing about him that got my Spidey-senses tingling.
Walmart Man: Did you hear the sad news on tv this morning?
WM: Or maybe in the paper?
WM: It turns out that Santa Claus’ wife is a cripple. They announced it today.
Me: (please-go-away expression masked as a pained expression)
WM: That’s why, whenever you see Santa, he’s got that old bag on his back.
And he burst into laughter and maybe even slapped his thigh, I’m not sure. Then he wandered away to the next aisle, presumably to spread his good cheer on another unwilling victim.
How bizarre is that? How often does a complete stranger stop you at the end of the canned fruit aisle to tell you a random joke, laugh, and then melt away into the store? Maybe there’s more than canned fruit in the fruit aisle at Walmart.
Barbetta asked me today, “I hear you weren’t impressed by Les Miserables. Didn’t like it?”
No, no, no! It’s not that. I really have no words for it. I liked it as much as one can like something that’s, well, miserable. There were such powerful themes of sacrificial love in the story that even though it was ugly, it was beautiful. But it was still ugly.
Like I said yesterday, the word that comes to mind is powerful. Kris provided another word for me: moving. Yes. Moving works as well. I cannot stop thinking about it. All day long, it keeps replaying in my mind. Sort of like having post traumatic stress disorder.
I was moved and it was powerful but I do wish there had been just a little bit of comic relief. And no, I didn’t find the innkeepers funny at all. I found them to be disturbing to say the least. Sneaky, manipulative people frighten me.
And maybe if instead of singing that haunting and heart-wrenching song of unrequited love, On My Own, if Eponine had sung Love Stinks, that might have also provided some welcome relief to the intensity. On My Own and Love Stinks are virtually the same song, just at a different vocabulary level. (Oh, close enough–just go with it.) If you click on each link, you’ll see that both songs start with someone wandering around in a dirty alleyway. I told you they were the same!
Picture of the Day.
I forgot to take a picture of the day so I had to resort to a self-portrait.
Figured I may as well practice something artsy while I took this picture of myself, so I played with light and shadow and then turned everything brownish in editing. I like to turn my eyes brown. And since I’m too wimpy to wear contacts, I’ll have to be content with brown eyes in pictures.