Where's Waldo - I mean, Mima?

So, another week has passed and we're still floating in the pool. Hubby announced that in most blogs, the husband is referred to as DH, as in "Dearest" or "Darling". I thought that would also work for "Dastardly" or "Devious", as he can often be both of those, too. Therefore, Hubby will now be referred to as DH. We'll fill in for the 'D' when necessary!
By the way, he did not like the Whiskey-Peach Chicken, and neither did Moink. I thought it was divine, and a good thing, too, because that's what I ended up taking for lunch the entire week. Big Brother and DiDi (his girlfriend) liked it, so three out of five people gave it the thumbs up, which is better than half. Next time we get invited to a gathering where we need to bring a covered dish, I know what I'm bringing.
I took my mother grocery shopping this morning after church. Mima is eighty-one years old, has had one knee replacement and a pin in one hip. She's going to the doctor this week to see about getting the other knee replaced. See where I'm headed? Mima is pretty inactive, meaning when she spoke with the cardiologist a few months ago and he inquired how much she walks, she said, "Up and down the hallway, sometimes twice a day."
But, give that woman a shopping cart, finding her in the store is like trying to find Waldo!
I see her at the end of an aisle, and by the time I get to there, she's disappeared. No sense trying to call out to her. People standing at the bus stop a mile away would hear me before she'd turn around. Many of the employees know me because I used to work there - almost twenty years ago - and they'll ask me if I've lost my mother or if I've forgotten where something is. (And, since they moved the ENTIRE store around, the latter is a distinct possibility! That's another posting - the insanity of marketing techniques and the effects on those with senior moments!) The twenty minute stopping at the store actually lasted closer to an hour before we even got in line. Three deep. Shopping carts overflowing with food. I count fifteen items in my cart. Express is 12 or fewer. I choose what looks like the lesser of all the evils, but the cashier is chatty and slow, and at the end of the order in front of me, tries to ring in a coupon for another store. This market doesn't accept competitor coupons. I finally say something after the third time she tries, because even the customer doesn't realize it's for another store! At this point, I fear there is little hope for me getting out alive, because I have some things separated from the rest of my order - they're for school. I explain how they need to be scanned separately, but apparently I've slipped into that foreign language I occasionally use in the classroom (the one where they look at me with blank expressions before doing the complete opposite of what I've just told them to do) I have to stop her, get her to see what I mean, and then she says, "Oh, I didn't understand!"
No duh.
I've survived yet another shopping experience on a Sunday before a football game. Someone remind me why I dislike going to the store on Sundays the next time!
By the way, I did find my mother, helped her get the rest of the things on her list (which were at the beginning of the store!) and got her safely home. I went to my house and went straight for the coffee pot.
Ah, coffee. Nectar of the gods. What a great way to relax.
Thanks for dropping by, and see you next time at the Stress Pool. Bring your favorite mug and your swimsuit - might as well jump in with the rest of us.