Food Lion Fashion

Posted by Danny

On Thursdays we eat dinner with Lisa’s sister, Aunt Sallie, and her husband, Uncle Matt.  Last week it was their turn to cook.

I picked the girls up from school and we dropped by the house to drop off book bags and to change clothes.  As I was about to get undressed, DJ popped in my room. 

“I think we need to have a theme for dinner!  Let’s all dress alike.”

“Are you serious?”


“OK – how about pajamas?”  With Matt cooking, I knew I’d be more comfortable with an elastic waist.

We all got our PJ’s on and each selected a stuffed animal to take with us.  I chose “B” Bear – he was the animal that has stuck with me all of these years.

Dinner as great, but the fun part came on the ride home.

“Dad, I forgot I need to take two dozen muffins to school tomorrow,” DJ reminded me.

“OK, we’ll run by the gro on the way home.”

“I ain’t going in the grocery store in my pajamas,” Stephanie screamed out emphatically.

“We’ll go to the Food Lion.  That’s not our regular store.  We won’t know anyone there.”

“I’m not going in!”  All three in unison.

“I can assure you if I’m going in the grocery store in my pajamas and bedroom shoes, I will not be alone!  GET OUT OF THE CAR.  NOW!”  Perhaps this is unusual punishment.  Regardless, I didn’t feel great about them sitting in the car alone at 9:30 pm.

As we walked in the door, Stephanie dodged behind the display of fresh-baked breads while the rest of us headed to the muffin aisle.  Two teenaged girls walked by snickering.  As we walked through the store, DJ would cautiously glance down the upcoming aisle hopeful not to see anyone she knew. 

At one point I was in the lead.  As I rounded a corner I yelled out one of her guy friend’s names “Wallace Jones!  What’s up?”  I thought she was going to dive into the chicken freezer.

“Just kidding!”

“Take our picture Michelle.”

“OK, stand by the cheese.”

You should never ask an 8-year-old to take your picture if you’re in a compromising position.  Not only were we standing in the Food Lion in PJ’s but we were also posing for a picture while other customers reached around us for Port Wine and parmesan.

The cashier didn’t miss a beat.  He acted as if he’d seen this every day.

As we walked back to our car, grouped together tightly, I wondered how many of my friends had this “opportunity.”  I bet that ten minutes last Thursday will be a memory we take with us to the grave.  I wonder how I can make more of those?

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