My Doppleganger

It is a rare Sunday morning when, after making the grocery list for the week, I determine I can pick everything up at The Purity and don’t have to fight the crowds at The Safeway.

I don my gym wear and head out the door. I don’t bother with makeup or putting in my contact lenses. (I wear my grotesquely unfashionable glasses.) One of the many great things about The Purity is the lack of dress code. They should have a sign on the door: “The term ‘Inappropriate Dress’ does not apply.”

My shopping spree is complete within 15 minutes. I stand in line behind a woman who I size up as being in her mid-60’s. Short, blonde hair in sorry disarray. Glasses. Black, velour jogging suit. No makeup.

I take my own inventory:  Mid-50’s. Short, blonde hair in sorry disarray. Glasses. Gym sweats that are only a few wears away from being retired as pajamas. Oh Lord….

I simply must emerge superior in this comparison game. My gym sweats will lead me to the gym later. (I lift weights.) I’m fairly certain her jogging suit will lead her back to the sofa from whence she came. (Let’s compare arm muscle tone, shall we?)

There’s no win-win in the comparison game. Today is a win for me. I’m okay. She’s not.

The checker looks between the two of us. While jogging suit lady writes her check, the young woman says, “You two look alike.” She giggles.

Jogging suit lady stops in mid-check writing. We make eye contact. A silent scream, “Nooooooooooooooooo!” reverberates between us.

The young checker continues to giggle.

I vow to never go through her checkout line again.

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