2 thoughts on “Wegmans”

  1. Same here, same here. With a bit of a sad twist, I hope you don’t mind me sharing this. On October 30, my father called, he lived ~500 miles away. We had the usual father son talk, he inquired about my work, asked when I would sign the insurance contract he has been recommending for ~20 years, and how both our fridges were empty, and how we would fill them up early next morning. The next morning I went shopping, and in the afternoon I got a call that my father had died on a walk in the forest. When I arrived at his house the next day, I found a full fridge. So now I’m still living off the stuff my father bought the day he died. Lots of noodles, some canned fruit, no vegetables. Thanks for listening. And thank you for your comics Dorothy, they mean a lot to me.

  2. I’m so sorry. I remember eyeglasses on the bedside tables of relatives who never returned for them. There is an earned poignancy in the crummy junk that keeps us day to day. Until one day we are gone. And the junk remains.

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