You probably don’t remember me, I was the weary 23 year old laden down with bags buying two bottles of beer, a bag of rocket and a packet of ham last night. Dear Denzel, I know I looked a mess and a grump as I ambled round the aisles, I was shattered though. I haven’t had much sleep lately; I’ve been stressed and super hormonal and bolt upright in bed far too often and far too late on a school night. I’ve been fighting with my consciences a lot, fighting with some of my choices (and don’t forget fighting with the pillow) and yesterday I was beginning to feel overwhelmed as I lugged a bag of
impulse buys dresses and tights and tops home to my little flat, desperate for a sit down, feeling blue because yet another biscuit over Christmas meant yet another pound I couldn't squeeze into any of my existing clothes.
Denzel, some people uproot their eyebrows and tilt their head to one side and hold my hand and say “Poor you. Poor little you living alone.” Others imagine I have a steady turnstile of men and parties to be attending, they’re normally coupled up themselves, they can’t think of anything better than a space to call their own. They’re both sort of right in a sort of way, I have a lot of fun and parties and the occasional man to warrant dressing up and tripping into town with a new pair of heels and my beloved Chanel. But sometimes single girls in the city are too poor to go out because payday isn’t for another 3 days Denzel, or we haven’t slept for a week because of a noisy neighbour, sometimes we don’t have any real human contact unless we visit the supermarket, and sometimes we just miss our mum.
You were lovely Denzel, you were lovely without even trying or calling me “love” or “sweetheart” or “darling” like some of the guys behind counters do. You weren’t leery or overly familiar you didn’t treat me any different to any of the other ladies you served actually, you know I don’t shop in the Nisa round the corner because they dared notice me enough to say I always looked down when I was doing my shopping, it just felt too personal. You made some jokes, Denzel, about my shopping and fooled around with the plastic beer bottles, never missing a beat when your boss asked you to do something.
We had a quick chat about optimism for some warm weather, you were polite and cool and friendly and you said goodbye and it was the single nicest gesture I could recognise in a little while. Dear Denzel, I felt really quite sad yesterday and alone and sometimes in the past that would have nearly floored me in a fit and a haze of emotion. Who would have thought that an entire mood could have been saved by a midweek browse in Sainsburys.
And see you later, I need more rocket.