We Have No Bananas

You'd think the Getting Caught At Zeffirelli's In Your PJ's episode would have deterred my sister from taking her slumberwear out in public, but not so. We had a hankering for a hot fudge sundae from McDonalds, evil stuff but chocolately and delicious. But alas, in today's cashless society, we had a mere 45 cents between us, 10 of which I'd found in Harry's kennel, of all places. A trip to the ATM was in order.

"I'll drive and you run to the teller," I gallantly offered.

"But I'm in my slippers!"

"It's after nine! Noone will be around!"

Noone was around, unless you count a couple of ambulances and a small crowd of nosy onlookers. Lights flashed madly blue and red as someone was loaded onto a stretcher. Security guards from Supabarn mumbled into their radios and tried to look important.

"Oh for christ's sake!" hissed my sister.

"I should have bought my camera!"

"I'm in my slippers again!"

"We can wait til they leave. But how badly do you want that sundae?"

Next thing she's dashing past the drama, all lightness and grace in her lambswool coated tootsies.

"It's an old lady! She's okay! But she had a heart attack in the supermarket!" my sister reported breathlessly a few moments later. "Wonder what brought that on?"

"She just couldn't believe the price of the bananas."