However, a man who smells exclusively of wintergreen muscle rub leans over the bulk pecans.
He asks if I ‘come here often’.
I am going to legally reclassify the baking aisle as a no fly zone (Casablanca).
We survived the awkward fumbling of middle school dances. We endured two drink minimum clubs. Was that just to spend midlife fighting off senior citizen Romeos who treat Safeway deli counter like a Senior Singles Cruise? That effort felt exhausting and unnecessary.
I am holding a basket containing a single box of store brand trash bags and a block of sharp cheddar. That contrast between ritual and routine feels sharply present. This is not an invitation to workshop your bit about how love is like a good steak.
Please stop.
Let the next chapter speak for itself. No further commentary is needed here. My focus remains on ordinary errands and clear boundaries.
The Grocery Senior Romeo Showcase
- The Cart Leaner: They materialize beside the yellow squash with a slouch that looks like a folding chair collapsing, attempting a sultry head tilt while examining bruised plums like they’re assessing a vintage sports car.
- The Basket Inspector: They don’t want to talk about the price of eggs; they want to make a deeply unsettling joke about how my frozen dinners mean I “must be cooking for a lonely household,” delivered with the aggressive wink of a man who hasn’t stretched his hamstrings since the Reagan administration.
- The Uninvited Wingman: They block the exit of the dairy cooler just long enough to drop a line about how “it’s hot out there, but it’s hotter in here,” while gripping a single carton of buttermilk like it’s a bouquet of roses.
- The Unsolicited Sommelier of the Discount Bin: They sidle up beside the markdown ground beef with the lingering grace of a damp mop, lowering their voice into a gravelly register that sounds like a gravel truck backing up, just to whisper something vile and breezy about how “a pretty gal like you shouldn’t be eating alone.”
- The Icebreaker That Died in 1982: They genuinely believe that leaning against the upright freezer and observing that “they keep it chilly in here” is a masterclass in psychological tension. They wait for a flutter of the eyelashes. They get a thousand yard stare usually reserved for people calculating tax brackets in their head.
- The Seductive Inventory Audit: They pick up a box of saltines, turn it over like they are reading a love letter and use it as a prop to angle their body toward yours, trapping you between the shelf-stable dressings and their impenetrable aura of Aqua Velva and generic heartburn medicine.
The Supermarket Singles Trap
I am wearing over sized sunglasses indoors and a stained zip up hoodie for a reason. That reason is an active, aggressive hostility toward human interaction carefully curated over decades. This stance also reflects a broader reserve when meeting unfamiliar people. I choose this appearance as a shield until I know the setting.
I am not sending signals by hovering near the canned veg. I am trying to figure out which brand didn’t double its sodium content.
The next time a man with a Member’s Only windbreaker drifts into my personal space with a 1985 pickup line, I reserve the right to growl and hiss.
Consequently, I’m not blushing; I’m calling a code red on aisle four.
