A woman humiliated my 83-year-old mother in a checkout queue — then the cashier looked at her face, locked the till, and said, “Nobody’s going anywhere.”
My mother is eighty-three and still does her own shopping.
Not because she has to. Because she has done her own shopping since 1959 and she has views about people who have things delivered.
That Saturday — the fourteenth of June — Brackley’s was heaving.
She had six things. Bread, two tins, a bag of apples, milk and a birthday card for my nephew.
And when she got to the front she could not find her purse.
She has a handbag with too many compartments and she has arthritis in both hands and the two of those things together mean that finding a purse takes her about ninety seconds.
