Honour

My sister was moving between the racks like a hawk.
Her usual restraint towards consumerism had taken a quick turn into a fascination for THINGS. Every few minutes she held some kind of kitchen object up in the air, waiting for me to nod agreeingly.

And did I nod.

Soon our shopping basket got filled with accessories you normally don't allow yourself to buy.
Tools cleverly trying to perfect the baking process.

While I looked at her piling up three new baking trays in a second basket,
I had the strange feeling something was at stake.
Something you didn't deal with carelessly.

The frenzy in her movements,
The focused pacing along the shelves.
No reflection was involved, only the survival instincts of the prehistoric man.

When also the second basket was filled, I stopped nodding.
'Are you ok?' I tried.

She looked at me for a few seconds and then started speaking with a stern but steady voice.
'I had three customers this morning.
'The first I couldn't give change,
the second felt my brownie was burned,
and the third asked whether it was my first day'.

Then she turned herself, and continued piling.