The cart squeaked loudly, disturbing all the other shoppers in the dairy aisle, while Timmy looked for Parmesan cheese.

“Gouda…pepper jack….mozzarella…” he whispered to himself as he skimmed the cheese section. His eyes found the Parmesan and he grabbed the last one before an older lady snatched it. She gave him a nasty look before strutting away.

“Nana’s gonna love this. It’s the fancy kind.” Timmy said as he crossed it off his list. Only one item remained: carrots.

He then realized that the carrots were across the store and at least six old ladies were headed in that direction. He rushed over bumping into grandma after grandma, who screeched and cursed at him as he passed.

“What is it with old ladies and chicken pot pie today,” Timmy said to himself as he grabbed the last bag of carrots. On the way to the checkout, he reviewed the list his grandmother gave him. Milk: check. Flour: check. He went all the way down the list til he got to chicken.

‘Wait a minute. That doesn’t say chicken.’ He thought. The lead from the pencil was smudged on the last word. He held the list up to the light and saw the word children, not chicken.

‘Nana’s old. She is just confused.’ He thought but when he looked around he realized she was not mistaken. At least six old women, who he had seen before with no children, were now dragging kids out of the store.

“I wonder where Nana got this recipe,” Timmy said before a small wrinkled hand tightened around his shoulder and dragged him away.