(currently dodging glitter and advice)

I came to TxMaxx with a purpose. A rug. Something chic enough to say “I have taste” and durable enough to survive Chunk’s rampages. I had just entered the promised land—aisle 7, rugs as far as the eye could see—when I felt the gravitational pull of southern chaos: human form, rhinestoned sweater, and a gaze sharper than the clearance rack’s edge.

“Darlin’, I can tell you’re good people.”

That’s how she started. No hello. No preamble. Just dropped it like a church aunt with a prayer request and a casserole. And before I could fake interest in a Moroccan runner to escape, Loretta had me cornered like a cat under a wet porch swing.

“Facebook’s gone straight to hell,” she said. “Scammers everywhere. My best friend—God love her—just got swindled out of fifty grand.”

And I wish I could say she told this story from a respectful distance, maybe behind a socially conscious barrier of breath mints and boundaries. Nope. She was so close, I could smell her peach schnapps lip gloss and tell her preferred brand of tissue—cheap, limp, and emotionally exhausted.

“She thought this man was real. Said he was in international finance, stationed in Guam, or Greenland—someplace with G’s and romantic deception. Called her his soul mate. Sent her poems. And baby, she sent him money like she was feeding ducks at the park.”

I smiled. Politely. Painfully. My soul was already halfway in the parking lot, Googling how fast I could flee without committing a federal offense.

Loretta dabbed her nose mid-tale with what I’m certain was a napkin from a Wendy’s circa 2007. Then she stepped even closer, defying both science and my personal bubble, whispering, “You seem smart. I know you wouldn’t fall for no nonsense. You look like you run your passwords and your men tight.”

I nodded. I nodded like someone trapped in a hostage situation disguised as fellowship. I nodded like Pookie nods from atop the fridge when he sees the toddler coming with a diaper and a dream.

Then her phone buzzed.

“Hold on, sugar… this might be him now.”

And just like that, she vanished. Swept away on glitter, gossip, and righteous indignation.

I stood there in the rug aisle—one beige 5×7 in hand, my trust in humanity frayed, and my aura coated in Loretta’s enthusiasm and nasal spray.