My daughter spoke those exact words in front of a cashier, with three shopping carts overflowing with expensive groceries and a line of strangers desperately pretending not to listen. PlanFamily Trips
My name is Margaret. I am seventy two years old, and until that afternoon, I truly believed a good mother should endure almost anything for her family without complaining.
We were standing in a crowded supermarket in Savannah. My only daughter, Stephanie, had packed three carts with prime beef, imported cheeses, fine wines, expensive snacks, and fancy desserts for a dinner party her husband, Clinton, was hosting for several high ranking executives from his firm.
I had picked out one modest box of chamomile tea for myself.
When the young cashier scanned the final item and announced the total, my knees weakened and my stomach dropped.
“That will be nine hundred and eighty dollars.”
My monthly retirement pension was barely twelve hundred dollars.
“Stephanie, I cannot pay for this,” I whispered, leaning closer so the people behind us would not hear. “I need to save my money to buy my prescription medication tomorrow.”
