Another shrimp on the barbie

A recent trip to the grocery store provided me with an excellent opportunity to observe and later report on the incoherent behaviour of Baby Boomers. I was standing at the dairy cooler, already well within the the yogurt I was reaching for. Out of the right corner came an arm, which was attached to a Baby Boomer's typically pudgy and disproportionate body. Said Baby Boomer was wearing his oh-so-cool-and-everyone'll-think-I'm-really-from-the-Outback hat.

His arm collided with mine, yet naturally there was no cause for an apology on his behalf. I decided at the time, since I'm a Gen X'er and therefore a much bigger person, that it wasn't worth my time to get upset over this clear breach of etiquette. Though I did make a small mental note of it for later.

Meanwhile, his wife stood by with her big, dumb eyes staring blankly at both of us.

A few moments later, I visited the magazine rack. For reasons unknown to me, this same male (presumably...I didn't lift up his skirt or anything to double-check) again reached ACROSS me while I already was in the process of pulling the magazine of my interest toward me.

Again, as you might have guessed. No apology, no ackwowledgment. Big, dumb-eyed cow of a wife standing blankly by. And I'm certain that he was so interested in reading the latest in Crochet News that he simply forgot himself momentarily...at my expense.

Farther down the magazine rack my husband stood catching up on his favourite periodicals. I decided to join him. Chatted him up, even. So much was I into our marital conversation that I leaned against the magazine rack, thus expanding my figure another couple of feet thanks to the large winter coat I was wearing at the time. I pulled up a copy of Spin Magazine, and pretended to be oh-so-engrossed in the latest happenings of Pearl Jam.

Now, you must understand, I do not care in the least for Pearl Jam. Nothing personal, just not my particular taste. Nor did I like them the first time they released their "10" album. Regardless, I feigned interest. Why? Because, predictably, Mr. Outback just HAD to read up on Green Day.

Sorry, buddy, a few decades too late for you to even know who they are. But here's the rub. Once Outback figured out I was with my 6'5"-foot husband, and since I refused to move because I KNEW he was going to want in where I was (everyone does), it was only then that he begrudgingly and barely audibly uttered these words:

"Excuse me."

Needless to say, I wasn't inclined to acquiesce to his request. I kept feigning interest in Pearl Jam, refused to move and Outback was forced on his way.

Yep. Two can play at your stupid little game.