The People I'm Next To Are Wrinkly And Wonderful

I'm next to these old ladies. A whole flock of them. They are fluttering in the thrift store line, surrounding me in a whirl of short choppy haircuts and full shopping carts. Two of them shoo me ahead in line since I only have one item. I try to resist, but they insist. I make a show of breaking down, and use the free pass to cut in front.
Honestly, I don't really want to wait behind them, I mispoke when I said they all have full carts, in truth they are overflowing, exploding with what can only be called old lady stuff. The two still in front of me have wicker baskets, fake flowers and bright knit sweaters. One behind me has a massive amount of stuffed animals stuffed into her cart. The other has a few vases, a clear rain coat, and a couple of, no joke, bags of hard candy. It's a fucking thrift store, where did those even come from?
I still have to wait for the first two, so I am sandwiched between them for a little bit. This usually would be a problem, lucky for me they are wonderful. They smell like chemical flowers and toothpaste. Plus when they talk to me, I don't feel like cringing the way I do when other people open their mouths. For once I wanted to hear them tell me what a lovely day it was, and how they had grandsons about my age. One is getting shoes because the ones she wore out hurt her feet. "I can't keep up with these wild ladies in these things," she explains as she asks me to break the connector on the new used shoes, she then tells me how strong I am. They ask me questions about my job, examine the stitching in the bag, compliment my hair. It is so cute, I am charmed. I can't tell if this is because of how stereotypical old lady they are or if it is because they seem so determined to be nice. These old ladies have a mission, Maybe thats part of the old lady stereotype, if it is its my favorite part. So I love old ladies I guess, who knew?
Also I am excited that they are my hundredth post.

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