Slices of Life: Her husband calls her a squirrel

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By Jill Pertler

My husband says I am a squirrel. Don’t take it the wrong way. It’s a term of endearment as well as a fairly accurate descriptor (if I am being honest). It’s become a nickname of sorts. It all started at the superstore. About a month ago we stopped to shop for a few things. We entered through the automatic doors and headed toward the first item on our list. But en route, up ahead, on the right, was a display of gloves – on clearance. I instinctively veered right to check them out because my husband could use a pair.

Before I got to the gloves, however, I was confronted with a roadblock. Two long lost friends (but strangers to me) had apparently rediscovered each other in front of the magazine rack and were in the middle of a long and drawn-out conversation in middle of the aisle.

 

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