Every Thursday my now-91-year old mother and I hit the road and hit the stores.  It is “her” day to decide where she wants to go and what she wants to shop for.  Sometimes it’s shoes, or slacks, or groceries doughnuts, cookies and coffee cakes.  Yesterday we bought an alarm clock.  Sometimes we head north to the big mall or the hairdresser.  Or north to Kohl’s.  Or south to Walmart.

Let me tell you how much I love the “handicapped” parking spaces.

Yesterday we stayed in town and had a leisurely hour and a half in Marshalls.  She bought two nightgowns, a robe, new slippers, three pairs of pants and a pair of shoes.

I don’t usually buy anything, but yesterday I went crazy and bought three summer tops and a nine-pack of socks.

This woman is a shopper of Olympic quality.

Lunch is either at those trendy gourmet hotspots, Walt’s Roast Beef or Subway.  Now that she is feeling better (I will admit things were a bit grim last November) she can wolf down a 6″ meatball sandwich in ten minutes flat and, cane in hand, is ready to move on to the next thing on her Thursday list.

If and when I’m 91, I hope someone takes me to a fabric store once in a while.