The young woman directly in front of me at the checkout stand has blonde-streaked curly hair and is quite attractive. Three men are in front of her – one about my age (middle age if one is planning to live past 110) and the other two about the same age as the young woman. One of the young men is holding a 12-pack of Corona. The smell of bitter alcohol sweat fills the air.

All three men unabashedly ogle the young woman, fidget like pre-schoolers who have to go potty, and talk in Spanish in between girly giggles. The beer holder says to the woman, “He thinks you’re pretty,” translating for the older guy.

As the mother of a daughter, my hackles raise. I prepare to step in front of this sweet girl and shield her from these potentially dangerous men

The woman gives a smile and sweetly says, “Thank you.”

This sets off a round of giggles and pants wetting among the men. The older guy says something to the younger guy in Spanish. The younger guy says, “He thinks you have beautiful eyes.”

Okay. That’s it. One more comment and I’m going to kick their asses. (After all, I lift weights.)

She smiles again and thanks them.

They pay for their beer and sadly bid adios as the young woman steps to the checkout counter.

After they are out of earshot, I say, “I was ready to protect you if you needed it.”

“Thank you so much,” she says, “but I didn’t think I’d have a problem with them.” She pulls what looks like a wallet out of her purse, flips it open, and flashes her sheriff’s badge.

Okay then.

I pay for my items and walk to the parking lot to see the men getting into a tan truck. A community service officer (you know, not a cop, but dresses like a cop) is walking across the lot.

I grab his arm, stopping him in the middle of the lot. “Don’t look now, but those guys behind you are drunk. And now they’re driving.”

He looks, blowing my cover as a snitch, and chuckles. “The cops know those guys.”

As they whiz past, he yells, “Go home. And stay there.”

They nod their heads in agreement.

Purity justice has been done.