Sometimes There is No Choice But to Hunt With the Game Warden

First time, you're on your own.

You happily finish your sloppy round of radiation

on a July afternoon.

The end of a long treatment for cancer that is

ALL GONE.

Can do!  Here I come life.

Let's get a little treat.

Drive through coffee.

Flavored, whipped, exquisite drive-through coffee.

Four years later, the non-sloppy radiation treatments

come at the end of March days, the beginning  of treatment.

No drive through coffee this time.

This time it's 

MARSHALLS!

(Okay, it's Paris, but really, March, in Minnesota?)

Conveniently located down the street from the treatment center.

And, in- conveniently, you are brought there by way of,

via,

the Boyfriend, who has now become the

Game Warden.

The Game Warden is from another planet.

He doesn't understand the reward system,

for having what you have, and being strong and tough to go through

all this, again.

You, a perfectly intelligent, sane woman of good taste and class,

MAY NOT DRIVE WHILE UNDER THE INFLUENCE OF NARCOTICS

of which I am.

However, it is still shopping.

It's therapy.

Groggily you drag yourself  to treatment, and somehow,

fifteen claustrophobic minutes later there is a niggling feeling of

"I can do this.  Maybe just a fifteen minute perusal.  Never

know what they got in today."

The first day the Boyfriend/Warden went in with me.

Today, the third day, he stayed in the car, happy to read his Nook.

Happy to know his wife is inside buying (come on, you don't think I 

don't spend money there?)

the rest of her treatment.

He doesn't get it, but it works for him.

He's still THE BOYFRIEND and gosh, you should

see all the candles they've come out with this spring.

Our place smells wonderful!!

Au Revoir,

Mary

All images via Pinterest