The other day D and I were at Sam’s Club were I spotted a Rosemary Christmas tree and immediately fell in love. It’s a two foot bush shaped like a spruce and so fragrant that I couldn’t stop rubbing it and smelling my hands. That rich aroma of fresh Rosemary conjures dreams of Alfredo sauce and gorgonzola and all things Italian and yummy.
We walked around the store in the Christmas bustle of shopping cart dodging and screaming children while I rubbed my new plant and sniffed my hands with glee.
When we got the dog food, D struggled to drag a 40lb bag of food and dump it into the cart where upon she gave me an icy look and said, “Thanks for your help.”
To which I responded, perhaps too loudly, “No problem, I was perfectly content to sit here stroking my bush while you do all the hard work.”
We both looked at each other for a blink as the press of shoppers crowded around, we waited for a dirty look or a scathing reproach from the women nearby but when nothing was forthcoming, we both started laughing.
“It’s a good thing some of your comments go right over the heads of all the Mormons here.” She said.
Too true, too true – which takes some of the fun out of it for some reason.
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