A halogen light burned out over my sink. This means that I’ll soon have to endure the socially awkward ordeal of going to our local hardware store to buy a new one.

I don’t know our hardware store well. It’s not that I don’t like being handy and all. I do. I just can never figure out the organizational scheme at the hardware store. I’m pretty sure it would make sense to truly handy people, particularly those with a little less estrogen and a little more facial hair, but it doesn’t make sense to me. So I usually have to ask the denizen of this little kingdom to help me find what I need.

Luckily for me, he’s the chatty, helpful type. He always walks me directly to the appropriate shelf and helps me choose between the various varieties of whatever-it-is-I-need. Then he walks me back to the cash register to complete the sale. Unluckily for him, he’s incredibly allergic to cats.

I learned this when I went there for wasp spray once, soon after moving here. After just a couple of minutes spent talking me through the various brands, he started coughing and sneezing. As I left, I wished him a speedy recovery from his cold only to be told, “Oh, I don’t have a cold. But I bet you have a cat.”

Ever since then, I work to keep more distance between us as he walks me toward the spackle or the calk. I have to judge just how far I can stay behind him without making him feel the need to slow down and help me close the distance. I try to time my arrival at the desired product for the moment when he’s made a decision so that we can immediately start our delicately spaced return to the cash register. On our way, I usually kick myself for not knowing how much money I’ll need to hand over the second we actually make it to the counter. Calculating the cost is difficult because a) I don’t do math in my head very well, especially percentages for tax, and b) I rarely get enough time near the product’s shelf to see the original price. But I want to be able to pay in cash because that takes less time.

Unfortunately, I don’t think he remembers that encounter 3 years ago, or why I might be minimizing contact and time. He probably sees me coming and thinks, “There’s that girl from out of town who’s always in such a hurry that she won’t stop to pass the time of day.”

Small town living is a tricky thing.