Still on the shopping theme, I had to make a quick trip to Costco this afternoon to pick up some food for the weekend onslaught of visitors. The parking lot was choked – I thought for a minute it was a long weekend. It was a lovely day and I’m not sure why so many people (besides me, of course) got it into their heads to go to a Big Box store on a Friday.

Aside from the regular flotilla of SUVs and mini-vans, this stretch limousine was parked by row one just outside the gas bar. I have no idea what the guy was doing along with buffing the side panels. Did his passengers win the lottery and decide to rent a limo to go do some last-minute shopping before they dropped into to the Lottery and Gaming Commission to pick up their winnings? He was there when I went into the store and still idling half an hour later.costcolimo

Yesterday, I was near Yonge and Eglinton to meet my friend Bernie for lunch. We’d been in a writing group in the 90s and hadn’t spoken since then. Last weekend, I was cleaning out my office and hand-shredding papers when I came across a mass card Bernie had sent me when I relocated from Toronto to Innisfil after my divorce. It was a lonely, confusing time and her thoughtfulness resonated then and still does. I remember some of the pieces she’d read in the group – richly layered descriptions that built memorable word-pictures of places and people. On a hunch, I did an online search and there she was, at the same address. I called and was thrilled to hear her distinctive voice. Of course we had to have lunch and get caught up.

As we stood outside the Eglinton subway station saying our goodbyes, our attention was caught by the throaty roar of an expensive vehicle. It was a very shiny black Jaguar convertible driven by a middle-aged blond woman. Interesting enough. Her companion was a younger man – not young enough to be her son but not old enough to be her husband. Hmmm.

She pulled up to the curb (blocking a live lane) with a squeal of tires and turned to her passenger. No words were spoken. She reached into her handbag, pulled out a wallet and peeled off a fan of twenty dollar bills. He held out his hand, she lay the bills in his palm and he got out of the car. No hug, no intimate smile – nothing. Without a backwards glance, she laid rubber as she sped to the corner to make a right turn.

Cougar? Boy toy? Pool boy? Remuneration for a bit of afternoon delight? The mind wobbles.