So I was back at the grocery store to check for milk that was near its sell-by date, and found a pocket of gallons that had just two days left.

We’ve continued to return since the time of the story above, and the children are in awe of the store’s “big refrigerator” they got to see once. Melody told the dairy manager it was her “favorite!” and he laughed.

“Yup,” he said, pantomiming a free-throw. “It’s big enough to play basketball in.”

I asked the lady behind the nearby counter to page the dairy manager and she got him on the intercom phone.

As I had expected, the employee on the phone looked me over. “Blond hair… glasses…”

“Three children,” I prompted, assuming that would be the main marker for him knowing who I was.

“It’s your ex-wife!” the lady said gleefully into the phone.

“No.” I said, in my firmest mom-voice.

“Oh don’t worry about it,” she said, flicking her hand at me and hanging up the phone. “He can take a good-natured ribbing. He gets me all the time.”

It’s interesting how limited some perspectives can be.