Just got back from Mega, the big supermarket here in Modi'in. Grocery shopping is my most hated chore, especially when I have one of those huge shopping lists. This week I decided to treat myself to home delivery, because, well, I'm worth it.
The first time I treated myself to home delivery, (months and months ago), I just let the stuff sit on the counter. The cashier very snidely said that I still have to bag the stuff and put the bags in the boxes. Well, I'm paying extra for home delivery, shouldn't someone do that for me??? Sheesh.
This time, I knew what had to be done. As I started lifting a box of water, the cashier started screeching, "no, no, no!". I looked at her, puzzled, as she came running around to my shopping cart. "I'll help you," she said.
I almost fainted. Israeli cashiers are not trained to help the customer. Trust me on that one.
I said, "That's okay, I can do it." She replied, "No, you shouldn't be lifting this stuff" and looked pointedly at my mid-section. I looked down to see what she was staring at, and then the light bulb went off in my head.
She thinks I'm pregnant!
Perhaps I shouldn't be wearing these empire-waisted shirts that Mazi brought me from America.
I smiled, almost laughed, at the cashier, opened my mouth to disabuse her of the notion and then--G-d forgive me, but I stood back and watched as she loaded all my groceries into bags and then boxes. I even touched my belly a couple of times for effect.
Maybe I'll just wear the shirts when I do the grocery shopping.
The Stuff That Lasts, Part Deux
3 years ago