oOoOoOo

     I can feel her eyes on me as we move throughout the aisle, sweeping up and down, darkening while she conducts her thorough examination of my body. She licks her lips in approval, shyly hiding her embarrassment when I catch her looking.

     “Hi,” I smile, but she simply nods and looks away.

     Pretty, little thing, absolutely desperate for it, barely able to hide her lustful gaze, which is now set upon my retreating form. She follows like a shadow, never more than ten feet behind; the squeak and groan of her shopping cart wheel easily giving her away. I quietly laugh to myself, knowing it won’t be long before I have her right where I want her.

     I probably would have made my move by now if it weren’t for the fact that there is a small, sticky child practically glued to her arm.

     His cries of, “Mommy,” reverberate down the aisle as he jiggles his chubby little body from side to side, demanding his mother remove the several colorful sugar-coated treats he has in his hands and place them in their cart. There’s another curly-haired child sitting silently in the carriage seat, sucking lackadaisically on a dime-store lollipop, watching her mother intently.

     Mommy Dearest, meanwhile, is too busy studying me unapologetically. Not that I can blame her.

     When he realizes he’s not receiving the attention he deserves, the boy child abruptly begins to jump in frustration, yapping like a Chihuahua, screaming at the top of his lungs, causing the little princess to wail as well.

     His tantrum forces Mommy to shake her head in tandem with his distressed hops, who has now momentarily slipped out of her flirtatious daze.

     I guffaw loudly as she struggles to get control of her twin tornadoes, probably trying to calm them down with promises of late-night TV and an extra helping of dessert.

     She glares at me, while she holds the little cherub’s hand, whispering something that quiets him down immediately.

     All too soon the small family turns around and heads for the check out line.

     “Too bad. We could’ve had some fun together,” I call after her. Loudly.

     Eventually, I follow the same route, grabbing the other items on my list and making a hasty retreat toward the exit.

     It’s when I start to put my bags in the back seat of my car I realize something is definitely off. First, it’s a sharp tap on my shoulder, unassuming in nature, hesitant at first. Then, it’s the throbbing agony of a hasty punch to the face. Blood spatters on my shirt as I place my hand over my now broken nose. The pain unforgiving, like a scorned lover out for revenge.

     I look ahead in bewilderment, shocked to find my short-lived admirer lividly grinning.

     “What the hell did I ever do to you?” I groan, collapsing onto the asphalt.

     I vaguely see her kids looking on from the back window of a powder-blue mini-van, bored, like they’re hardly surprised to see their mother beating up a grown man.

     She leaves rather unexpectedly after that, so I  manage to shift myself into my car, without any help from the dozen or so people standing by and watching. I twist the key eagerly, but the car doesn’t start. The engine remains silent as I throw my head onto the steering wheel, while the sound of glass breaks behind me.

     “Walter Hobbs!” She yells, seething and smashing the windows of my car with a baseball bat.

     As I peer closer at the mother, getting my first real look at her, I realize I know this crazy weirdo. She’s older but still has the same long, brown hair I loved to run my fingers through. The same twitch in her eye whenever she looked at me.

     “Janey?” I call. “JANEY?” I shout.

     No response.

     For she is the scorned lover, and I the pitiful man crawling beneath the dashboard crying in pain.

oOoOoOo

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