Bacon Scrapins are the little bits of meat left in the greasy fry pan. They’re tasty, but the nutrition needs searching for. This tale is a bacon scrapin.

Have you ever walked down an aisle in a big city indoor mall? You know the ones, with rows of stores on either side of you, with more connecting aisles that lead off on sharp or minor angles that meander into unknown places? The aisles where only the experienced shopper in your family knows where you’ll end up, maybe?

When we shop in any mall with a name like “Fineview”, or “Dandydale”, or “Missiwhippy Town Centre”, or “Burgerville Village” my mind is in neutral. That mystical mental state when I can be led anywhere or do anything. Every store is the same and every face is a blur.

One embarrassing experience included me wandering beside my ‘canny-shopper-partner-and-guide’ in my usual state. I heard a voice from in front of me, I focused, and saw that she was looking directly into my eyes when she had said, “And where are you going next?” with a lilt in her voice.

Of course, I was flustered. Did she know me? Was I supposed to know her? Was I not paying attention when she had spoken to me first – before this question? I gathered my aplomb around me quickly, and with a fake air of bonhomie and smiling self-confidence I replied, “We’re looking for new shorts and Ts for our grandson.”

She looked closer at me and said, “What?” I repeated myself. She said, with a haughty tone, “Good for you!”, and kept on walking briskly past us. It was then I noticed she was wearing headphones with a doodad sticking out. She was talking to someone else on her phone’s bluetooth headset. Maybe it was time to focus a little closer to life in the mall, I thought to myself, and hoped my rosy cheeks wouldn’t be noticed by any of the cool, city folks shoppers.

My most recent muck-up occurred in the town nearest to the nine-stop-signs-sized community where we live out-a-bit in the country. I had driven into town to send 8 Kraft envelopes of documents to some important officials.  I went to the courier office at the top of the hill near the mill wheel and they told me I didn’t want to courier them. Surprised, I asked why not and they told me it would be too expensive. They advised me to send them registered mail. At my look of askance she said, while rubbing thumb and fore finger together, “It’s cheaper. We’re honest here and try to help.” I replied with a grin, “I love living in a small town.”

Down the street ‘we’ drove and parked in our bank parking lot across from the post office. I pulled into an empty slot and, as I was getting ready to get out, another car pulled in on my side. ‘We’, by-the-way, would be me and my ‘grand-dogger’ (my daughter’s dog). She’s an Australian Shepherd and she was sitting politely on her haunches in the back of my vehicle. She is one of the smartest dogs, or humans, you’ll ever meet. She understands English and does what she’s asked, except to be quiet when someone rings the doorbell.

Naturally, I fill her in on what’s going on so she’ll be patient as we drive from place-to-place before going on our promised walk together in the park by the river. So, as I got out, I turned to her and said, “We’re getting closer, little girl, to our walk.”

I heard a woman’s somewhat huffy voice say, “The parking slots are quite narrow so I had to park close.”

What? Oh man. I did it again. She was driving the car that had parked beside me. She didn’t know I had my grand-dogger in the back and thought I was talking to her. She didn’t hear the last part about going for a walk, and was a bit insulted to be called a little girl maybe?

I said, “I was talking to my dog in the back. We’re going for a walk and we’re getting closer to her getting out to walk.”  I don’t think she heard me, or was ignoring me, and kept walking away to do her business. Jeez! Again. She thinks I’m a wiseacre with a flippant attitude.

This ‘Scrapin’ is for her. I hope she reads this and will appreciate that I was not being intentionally rude, and was not insulting her parking skills. In fact, being close is good – sometimes.

The dog enjoyed her walk through the park while I mused on the problem, at my age, of being more aware of who’s around me and not talking ‘to myself’ in public – even though the dog understands English.

Maybe I’ll start wearing fake headphones and no one will know?