The nuns are quibbling at the feed store.

This morning on the way to work, it was errands. Errands usually equals buying food for a lot of animals plus Home Depot. Besides small dogs, there are house cats and barn cats and the feral cats and the horses that all need to eat. Most of what the horses eat comes on giant semi trucks a couple times a year, but they still need big bags of food you fling in the back of the car, just like dogs and cats.

So at feed store numero dos, where I pick up small dog food and cat food for everyone but the feral cats, there are some nuns in the parking lot. Why don't the feral cats get food at the nun store? They get whatever's on sale at Safeway is why. And usually there aren't nuns there. But today there were, and they weren't good at parking their giant white station wagon. So it was hard for me to throw my feed bags in the car. But what are you gonna say? It's nuns.

The nun driving was really, really old. The nun trying to get out of the massive white wagon was too and couldn't walk very good. They were quibbling. You ever hear quibbling nuns? Every sentence starts with Sister.

"Sister, something mumbly mumbly mumbly mumbly."

"Sister, I am TRYING TO get out."

"Sister, mumbly mumbly mumbly old lady voice something the Pharmacy!"

"Sister, if you had pulled in straight I'd be able to!"

So I ask the less mumbly sister who doesn't seem to walk real good if she needs a hand. I mean, good god. You gotta help nuns out, right? Even if you still need to go to Home Depot. She has on white sneakers and gray, bare legs and this foldy black dress skirt thing and the black head thing over a white head scarf. Tiny little glasses and gray skin.

Sister though, she don't want any help. She just wants my shopping cart. Now. The look she gives me, Holy Sister Mary Dagger Peeper. So I finish flinging all the bags in and wheel it over to her, sort of push it so it props her up, and slowly, slowly, with mumbly Sister harping at her and her harping back, she gets out of the car and slowly, slowly pushes that cart into the feed store, little shuffly steps with her white as white can be off-brand sneakers.

Sister number one pulls out of the parking lot in front of me and floors it. Man oh man. Mumbly sister, who looked to be about 150 years old, she is off like a shot. Her car like a fleshy, white tuna. Off to more nun errands. For a second, I just want to follow the nun. But I don't. Just go to Home Depot instead.