I Don’t Know What I’m Fixing To Do

I don’t know what I’m fixing to do.

I know I ought to but I don’t. These holidays have got me so I don’t know whether I’m coming or going.

I had what I was fixing to do written down on a piece of paper, but for the life of me I don’t know what I did with it.

It was something important, I do remember that, but I just can’t recall whether I was supposed to do it sooner or later. I sure hoped it was later because I needed some time to remember what the heck it was.

Shoot, I didn’t even know where it was, much less what it was.

I wanted to ask somebody what they thought I was supposed to be fixing to do, but I didn’t want anybody to know that I had no idea what I was fixing to do.

So I faked it.

I walked across the parking lot and into the grocery store as if I knew exactly what I had come there for. To cover my confusion I took a buggy from the big rack of them and headed toward the produce section where I lingered over the rutabagas and the kumquats.

There were some folks from church and some others I knew from football games who passed by and nodded to me while I picked over the peppers and grazed over the greens as if I had a purpose in mind.

It was the squash that saved me, the bright yellow color of them that jolted my memory and helped me remember my wife had sent me to town to purchase a gallon of yellow paint so she could force me to paint some walls she wanted to change.

About that same time I discovered the piece of paper where she had written it all down. I found it folded up inside my jacket pocket while I was searching for my Tums.

There was nothing in my buggy so I just left it on the canned goods aisle. I figured some stock clerk would eventually spot it as abandoned like the police did vehicles on the expressway.

I don’t think anyone noticed me as I sneaked out of the grocery store.

I do know that I felt good as I walked across the parking lot toward my car, because I finally knew what I was fixing to do.