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We were just inside the grocery store where the shopping carts are queued. After wrestling one loose from the corral, me and my grandson proceeded to enter the big chain grocery store.

Hey! He stopped abruptly right in front of me between the door to the main entrance of the store. Was it my fault that my shopping cart hit his ankle? He let out a "yowl". I began to apologize profusely. Glancing down at his ankle, I saw that he was wearing NO socks.

After my apology for hitting him, while he still talking on his cell phone, he continued to glare at me. I was getting a little angry too. After all, it was Mr. NO socks who made an abrupt stop in front of me to talk on his cell.

He finally moved out of my way, possibly seeing that I was getting a bit worked up over the situation too. He never got off his cell phone. He was speaking another language but I could imagine what he was telling the person on the other end of his call.

As I continued around the grocery store, I met him in one or two aisles and without fail he began to moan about his ankle. He was still on his cell phone.

I'm usually a compassionate sort of person, but these meetings in the aisles did nothing to diffuse my resentment of his behavior toward me for something that was clearly his own fault.

I told myself again and again that it was his fault. Number one; he should have worn socks. Number two; he ought to get off the cell phone long enough to accept my apology. Number three; what could be so important that made him stop in an entrance way where half a dozen people, directly behind him, were waiting to enter the store?

Finally I finished my purchases and was ready to check out in one of the 10 checkout stations that were open. Who was in the shortest line? You guessed it! Mr. NO socks.

My grandson wisely directed me to another, longer, check out line.

Learn more about this author, Mona Gallagher.
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