She was probably in her mid-fifties. Blonde hair. Large sunglasses on top of her head. Red sweater.
There were at least twenty carts beside us.
I genuinely thought I’d misunderstood.
“I’m sorry. Were you reaching for this one?”
She rolled her eyes.
“I was walking toward it, you selfish little brat! Some people have absolutely no manners!”
I actually looked behind me.
I’m 34. Nobody had called me a brat in about twenty years.
I said, “There are plenty of carts.”
“Oh, so now you’re telling me what to do?”
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