Ms Throw-away-her-clothes (not her real name) is tall ... for her age, and I should know. She stood one head over me. On her broad shoulder (she's probably a swimmer) hung a Louis Vuitton tote bag. Other than that, there wasn't anything particularly fashionable about her. She loved hats. I counted at least three, maybe more. There was the wide-brimmed flowery fabric hat, and there was the hard framed straw cap with a strap to be secured at the back of the head, and then there was the ... nah, hats are not my thing, you understand?
Mr Nose-glued-to-his-phone (the husband) looked like a simple man. Both wore thick eye-glasses and - Yes! She's probably taller than her husband, if you must know. Wherever we went, he was the first to fish out the WIFI password. A quiet and unassuming man, he watched silently each time his wife pulled the shopping cart into an outlet. At the supermarket chain we walked into, Ms Throw-away-her-clothes picked up a pile of chocolates, just because they were cheap.
"Aren't you concerned about expiry dates? There must be a reason why they're cheap," I remarked cautiously when she first recommended the chocolates to me. Thereupon, she quickly scanned the labels and pronounced to anyone who'd listen that the product "looked good". Her sister picked up another pile of chocolates and a friend accompanying the sisters picked up another pile. Not to be outdone, I too picked up several. I wouldn't call my collection a "pile" for space constraint was a dire concern.
Someone heard Jac (not her real name) comment that the star shaped chocolate cookies were divine so before you could say A-ti-shoo, all the ladies picked up several packs. Ms Throw-away-her-clothes picked up 6 packs. Her shopping cart was full.
I strayed off to the fruit section. The donut peaches and plums looked delicious so I picked up some, carried them to the weighing scale and found that it was one of those self-service thingy.
"See here? The codes are all printed on the card sticking out of the box of fruits. You punch in this code and the price tag is printed," said Mr C, our Tour Manager.
That done, I was off to the cashier to reconcile my damages while Ms Throw-away-her-clothes and her entourage remained at the shelves studying package labels and probably expiry dates too. It was a long time before they were done and by the time they made it through the cashier (for it was time to go), Mr Nose-glued-to-his-phone was still thus engaged.
These were four out of our twenty odd travelers. Our destination: Italy/Switzerland.
Mr Nose-glued-to-his-phone (the husband) looked like a simple man. Both wore thick eye-glasses and - Yes! She's probably taller than her husband, if you must know. Wherever we went, he was the first to fish out the WIFI password. A quiet and unassuming man, he watched silently each time his wife pulled the shopping cart into an outlet. At the supermarket chain we walked into, Ms Throw-away-her-clothes picked up a pile of chocolates, just because they were cheap.
"Aren't you concerned about expiry dates? There must be a reason why they're cheap," I remarked cautiously when she first recommended the chocolates to me. Thereupon, she quickly scanned the labels and pronounced to anyone who'd listen that the product "looked good". Her sister picked up another pile of chocolates and a friend accompanying the sisters picked up another pile. Not to be outdone, I too picked up several. I wouldn't call my collection a "pile" for space constraint was a dire concern.
Someone heard Jac (not her real name) comment that the star shaped chocolate cookies were divine so before you could say A-ti-shoo, all the ladies picked up several packs. Ms Throw-away-her-clothes picked up 6 packs. Her shopping cart was full.
I strayed off to the fruit section. The donut peaches and plums looked delicious so I picked up some, carried them to the weighing scale and found that it was one of those self-service thingy.
"See here? The codes are all printed on the card sticking out of the box of fruits. You punch in this code and the price tag is printed," said Mr C, our Tour Manager.
That done, I was off to the cashier to reconcile my damages while Ms Throw-away-her-clothes and her entourage remained at the shelves studying package labels and probably expiry dates too. It was a long time before they were done and by the time they made it through the cashier (for it was time to go), Mr Nose-glued-to-his-phone was still thus engaged.
These were four out of our twenty odd travelers. Our destination: Italy/Switzerland.
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