As you may or may not know, October is breast cancer awareness month. There are pink ribbons everywhere, lots of information out there, and many shops and services are requesting donations for breast cancer research.
I have several close friends and a few family members who have faced this devastating disease, and I’m happy to report that the majority of them have come through. All these women have shown courage and determination, and I’m proud to know all of them. They’ve all taught me something about how to live my life and how to face adversity.
Because of those women with whom I am personally acquainted, and especially because of the few who didn’t make it, I always donate to breast cancer. I mean, you never know if it will be your dollar that will tip the scales to fund some amazing research project that turns out to be THE one that finally comes up with a cure. And you never know if someday, YOU will need that support network.
Anyway, that public service message aside, I made a quick stop at my local supermarket yesterday just to pick up some milk. I’d done my big shop a few days prior, but somehow, we were close to running out of milk, so there I was.
I stood in the express line. Two people were ahead of me. The cashier, one that often checks me through, was efficient and obviously an old hand at the job. As she scanned each person’s first item, she asked, “Did you find everything you were looking for today?” as instructed by management, and at the last item, she asked, “And would you like to donate to breast cancer today?” Then final amount owing, then money exchanging hands, then “Thank you for shopping at our store” and on to the next customer.
When it was my turn, everything was moving along exactly like that … till she looked up at me, with my four litres of milk in her hand, and inquired, “And would you like to donate breast milk today?”
I looked at her. She looked at me. There was a short silence. Absolutely deadpan, she said, “Please tell me that I didn’t just ask you if you wanted to donate some breast milk.”
Another short silence. Then, “Yes,” I replied, “you did.”
She sighed. “You bought milk, I was thinking breast cancer, I put them together … I can’t believe I said that!”
I giggled. She ruefully shook her head and sighed again. “That’ll make a good story in the lunchroom, at least.”
And on my blog.
It’s just too bad that I couldn’t donate that particular day.