![]() ![]() She couldn’t hear me even if she’d been so inclined she was plugged into her iPod and humming along. My sister, Deirdre, was hanging the top half of her body over the shopping cart, letting her long, luxurious chestnut-colored hair touch the unpaid-for produce. Instead, she was standing in the middle of the aisle, smiling at nothing in particular and referring to her shopping list as if it were about to tell her something about her life that she didn’t already know. I WAS STALLED in aisle 7 of our local supermarket, musing over the selection of potato chips and saying something like, “But really, don’t you think thirty-seven different types of chips is a ridiculous number to choose from? I mean, how did we end up living in a country that makes a big deal over everything being squeaky-clean and then at the same time makes you pay extra for chips called ‘dirty’?”Īs usual, Mom hadn’t heard a word I’d said. ![]()
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