The Honda had an appointment at the dealership this afternoon. After class, I took it over there and left it, alone. . . bereft. . . .badly in need of fresh oil, a light bulb, a seat belt thing to make it quit making odd noises, an air bag recall something-or-other, and a wiper blade.

The wiper blade was the most important thing, according to me, because it’s been raining every morning all this past week, and the wiper on the driver’s side was only pretending to work, preferring instead to make stripes, little skinny stripes, each one about four inches from its nearest neighbor. Its partner, passenger-seat-side wiper, was diligently doing its proper job, making the view out the passenger side of the windshield clear and wide and clean.

I’ve been driving to the city every day this week, either leaning almost completely over to the right so I could see out the GOOD side of the window, or bouncing up and down like a bobble-head in the rear window of a ’57 Chevy, so I could somehow see between all the stripes.

I was looking forward to having a working windshield wiper on the trip home. But, of course, you guessed it: not a cloud in the sky on the trip home.

While the Honda was being serviced, their sweet old shuttle-guy shuttled me over to the College Mall to while away four or five hours.

Now you must understand this much about me: I hate malls. I am not a shopper. Besides which, I have absolutely NO MONEY even if I were a shopper. We are broke. None monies live here.

I spent about an hour in Target and then ventured over to the mall proper. I thought maybe it wouldn’t be too crowded, early in the afternoon as it was.

Wrong.

Thursday is Senior Discount Day at the mall.

Since I wasn’t actually shopping, this wouldn’t have bothered me except for one thing.

All the benches were taken by old men.

Not a single place to sit and read my book, in the entire mall.

I guess I could have wedged my sizeable behind between a couple of skinny old guys, but the look in their eyes kind of decided me against that course of action. Besides, they were wearing berets.

Never wedge your sizeable behind between two skinny old guys if they are wearing berets.

The berets are a definite indication of recent Viagra usage. Besides which, a skinny old guy in a beret is just gross.

Sorry.

Oh, I did buy something while I was there.

I dug up enough nickels and quarters from the bottom of my hideous cavern of a purse to buy a slice of pizza and a diet coke.

Do you suppose those old men were at the mall to ogle the old women? Oh let’s all just not GO there, ok?

Who was it who started marketing berets to old men? He must have been a marketing genius, because I think every fifth man in the mall today was wearing a beret.

Maybe it’s the same marketing person who started pitching the red hats for old ladies.

Come to think of it, most of the old ladies today were wearing purple.

Red hat ladies and beret-sporting men.

It was cute. A horrifying glimpse into the future, but cute nonetheless.

As for the Honda dealership restroom, I will just say that the majority of their clientele must be really, really tiny. There was barely a foot of space between the throne and the door. And, of course, it opened INSIDE.

Also, their soap smelled like cornbread.