Portrait in Linen

The clerk had checked us out dozens of times before, so she was unaffected and unsurprised when the groceries kept comin’ and comin’.  She recognized me, even without the kids in tow.

But the man in line behind us was shocked and appalled and made no secret of it.  “They must be spendin’ a fortune!”

Maybe he meant nothing by it.  Maybe he didn’t know I could hear him.  Maybe his mama never taught him any manners.  I pretended not to hear him, no matter why he opened his mouth.

His wife came to what I interpreted was our defense, though I’m unsure whether or not she knew I could hear her, too.  “Maybe they have a large family.”

Well, yeah.

Yes, I’m experiencing a heightened sensitivity level due to recent, enduring, and unresolved trauma.  Such an audible observation of which I would be subject might not faze me in the least a week ago.  I may have inwardly sighed and written the comment off as curiosity.

But I am sensitive right now, and I was offended.  The resulting irritation may simply be an exaggerated over-compensation for any guilt the man’s comment may have incited in me–guilt which is unreasonable and unwarranted.

Why might I feel guilty?

Because stuffed and loaded in the stranger’s remark are several loosely related accusations that may be silently hurled at me from afar.

1. We’re having a national food shortage.  How can you go drop that kind of money on taquitos and fudge pudding when there are people all across America who are having trouble buying milk and bread?
2. The world is over-populated.  Why do you have so many kids?
3. Nobody spends that much on groceries.  Are you out of your mind?

…among others.

I have a conscientious objection to each and every one of these phantom accusations.  I feel more than justified–I feel blessed to have Rocky, Priss, Bunny, Mo, & Squeak, blessed to have the responsibility to provide for them, blessed we can provide for them.  I have not and will never apologize for bringing them into the world.

But I feel guilty when accused of anything, whether or not I’ve actually done anything wrong.  And that guilt makes me defensive and angry.  And ever since I heard Mr. Fortune in line at the grocery store, I’ve been upset about it.
And I’m upset that I’m upset.

Honestly, we were over budget, but not by much.  Maybe 30% more, which was to be expected when we’ve gone so many days beyond the shopping day without replenishing staples and household supplies.  We buy twice as much when Miner’s home, because that doubles the cooking requirement.  And I never stop him from deviating from the list; he earns the paycheck, so I don’t complain.

So yes, we spent more than usual, but “usual” for us is always going to seem inflated compared to the “usual” for a family of four.  Multiply the average monthly cost of food per person, and I’d say we do damned well to stretch a dollar.  Better than damned well, even.

If Mr. Fortune ever read this and felt bad about what he said, I’d then feel bad about letting it get to me and ranting away about it.  I would probably apologize profusely before explaining, “I’ve just had a really, really, really tough week.  I’m sorry for losing my temper.”