and now I’m thinking
every time I’m at the sink
the same stuff,
how the word ‘Ivory’ looked on her shopping list
I can see it still,
and the two rows of bottles –
the ULTRA and the NON-ULTRA –
that sat on the store shelf
3 shelves higher
than the stuff I use –
a shelf so high
you have to be as tall as me to reach it,
and how every time
I’d be momentarily paralyzed,
caught between ULTRA and NON,
wondering which one she wanted,
wondering if she even knew the choice existed,
wondering which one I’d be sent back to exchange if I got it wrong.
Which one did I purchase last time?
And did she say anything about it?
Drawing a blank. In aisle 6. Me.
More small beans, this.
But I’d weigh the options
as if wearing a WWMD bracelet.
What would Ma do?
And the thing is I knew the answer. I knew what she’d do.
She’d say, “Who cares? I’m not washing for an army anymore. Get the cheaper one.”
But right behind that
I’d hear a Woody Allen voice, saying,
“What kind of daughter buys their mother the NON-ultra?”
in recent years
I’ve leaned toward the Palmolive Lavender
solely for the aromatherapy claims,
the alleged calming effects.
Three aisles later
in the dairy section
I’d still be pondering
the ULTRA vs. NON choice.
It all seems silly now.
It all seemed silly then.
at the sink
I am glad
to see what my last choice was.
* * *
This post is part of the On, In, and Around Mondays challenge to write from where we are.