The Walls Have Ears

I sometimes find myself malingering in the frozen foods aisle at Trader Joe's. Occasionally, if I'm feeling reckless, I even buy stuff which isn't on my grocery list.

As I hovered over the desserts section, eyeing a couple of treats, a millennial buddy bounced up and gave me a high-five. "Hey, Nancy-pantsy, what's happening?"

I shrugged. "Not much, except I can't decide which flavor of sorbet to buy. I'm kind of in the mood for lemon, but raspberry matches my lipstick."

"Get both of them."

“Good idea." I leaned on the handle of my cart. "So, what's new with you?"

Her face widened into a happy grin. "I'm really psyched. I just bought a manual typewriter."

"Great," I said.

"I found it online."

I nodded. "Somehow I guessed brick and mortar wasn't involved, but thanks for clarifying that."

She rolled her eyes heavenward in an attitude of ecstasy. "I love it. The clickety-clack of the keys makes me feel like I'm actually accomplishing something, even when I'm not."

"Manual typewriters have their charms," I said.

"You have one, right?"

I shook my head. "I used to, a long time ago, but not any more."

"Omigod, what happened to it?"

"I don't remember. I think I either gave it to Goodwill or traded it in for my first computer."

Her face registered primordial horror. “What? I'd never expect you, of all people, to succumb to the tyranny of technology."

"I didn't succumb to anything," I said. "At least nothing related to this topic."

 "Then why did you get rid of such a magical piece of machinery?"

I kept my voice level as I replied. "The neighbors complained about the noise. They said it kept them up at night."