Not that I frequent my local LCBO all that much.....ok, yeah I do, but in my defense it's only wine and I do have a great joke about Domain D'or ( it's right dere).
It's a little LCBO and must admit that I do know the names of most of the employees. They don't know my name, but they sure as hell know my face. I guess it registered that, lately I have been wearing hats a lot and, knowing how much they gossip.....they will gladly identify every drunk in town.... there has clearly been speculation about my mortality.
Little cashier Jen.....mousy, gimpy, cross eyed Jen asked me today if I was ok. So...ok the store was empty and, given the well known side effect of chemo-babble.....I told little Jen in 2,000 words or less, that I was fine. Well didn't little Jen just grab my hand, look at me with a limpid, cross eyed gaze and tell me that she had been worried about me and was so glad to hear that I was ok.
Ever cry at LCBO ? And not because you screeched into the parking lot 2 minutes after they closed ?
It seems that the concern you get, at times, comes from people you barely know. It's sweet, but it's bittersweet. Cancer is lonely. It separates you. I guess people think you might be contagious.....dumbasses !!
Ok, if you threw me into a swimming pool I would likely rotate to the right in endless circles but I can still form rudimentary sentences, I can still choose the correct fork for salad and I can still dance like a stripper on quaaludes. But who would know ?
I fear becoming Miss Havisham......there are enough fucking cobwebs around me to substantiate that concern, but let's make it clear that there is no wedding dress involved....just a well worn pair of yoga pants and a sweater that accommodates the arm penis.
Yes, this was a rant. Come on dudes....I'm entitled. And I was at LCBO today.
Little Jen.....you will forever be employee of the month.
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