My Cashier's Uterus (or lack thereof)

Today I went to the drugstore to buy some - well, there's no easy way to say this - tampons.  I get to the cash, and the cashier is saying to the woman in front of me "What a tough morning I'm having! The customers have been in the worst moods! I actually had a customer tell me to STOP TALKING this morning."  Wow, I thought to myself.  Some people are so hostile.  Probably the best part of being a cashier is making small talk with your customers.   Lighten up, I thought.

Oh - how innocent I was.

Now it's my turn at the cash.  I hoist the three boxes of industrial strength feminine hygiene products onto the counter.  She scans them.  $8.42.  Looks at me.  "These are $8.42."  I smile.  "That's very expensive" she adds. I smile.  My eyes are flitting toward to door.

Then she says "I had a hysterectomy a few years ago.  So I don't need to worry bout any of that stuff anymore." Smile still plastered to my face.  "Tumors.  Everywhere."  Turns out she's not done yet: "And the bleeding. Oh, the bleeding."

"I'm sorry to hear that" I say, grabbing my (I forgot to bring an ecologically friendly bag) plastic bag and plotting my escape route.

"That's OK." she said to me.  "I walk in riddled with cancer, and when I left I was cancer free. But my recovery - "

Thankfully we were spared the details of the recuperation by the next customer in line.

And to think - I was worried that I'd have nothing to blog about.