An unfamiliar voice caught me off guard, as I waited in line at the local market.
“That’s an awful lot of lunchmeat you’ve got thaya!”
The speaker, a woman with beyond white hair, stood beside me, with the help of a knee brace, clutching a container of potato salad.
“I’ve got 4 sons and they work outdoors, so they plow through this stuff.”
“4 sons!” Aloud she repeated, “4 sons,” and for just a moment, her lower jaw twitched, as if she had suddenly discovered an infected tooth.
“I had 3 sons myself, but it’s ‘had’ for me. They passed at 57, 39, and 28. Diabetes and heart attack and…” Her voice trailed off for just a moment before she continued.
“But today I have 11 coming over for a party. That’s why I am here, getting all of this potato salad.” Her eyes brightened, as she patted the container reassuringly against her chest.
“A party? What time do you want me over?”
She smiled and scrunched her nose. “Yes, you can come, but you’ll have to sleep on the flowa. Just remember to bring that lunchmeat! You and those 4 sons.”