I used to love to go grocery shopping. See different stores. Look at regional things. Yada. But since the body collapse, I do pick-ups. And since Sam's was a complete butthole yesterday and didn't have my patties in for this weekend, I had to do another pick up at WM today. Even though I was just there yesterday.
On the weekly, I oftentimes get the same associate. She lives with her sister and like four cats, and they do rescue, and she's a fucking delight. Love her.
Had her yesterday. Had her again this morning.
I asked her to put the items in the backseat because there wasn't a lot.
Cool.
She's putting my five small bags of groceries in, and then, as she starts to close the door, she said, "Hey! I saw your 'Encyclopedia of Serial Killers' book. My sister would love that."
Because me, being me, cleaned out my fucking storage MONTHS AGO, and all my stored books are in the floorboard of my back seat.
Including the lovely aforementioned title.
I smiled and explained I'm an author.
Then she said she and her sister were raised in the nineties, and her mom watched all those true crime shows.
And I'm simply happy she didn't call a hotline.
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