Why is it hard to love me

“I wish I had an alternative,” the twenty-one-year-old miserable Rose lamented, and scanned the goods in her scanty country store. Her eyes were wet at once, as they often do each time she thought of her late mother, and her compulsory summer internship which would warrant her to lock her shop for that period.

“How would I sustain myself if I…?”

“Hey! Do you have any flour that is lower in calories?” A shopper, who was in his twenties, requested, and interrupted her thoughts. The repulsive voice jolted her out of her reverie, and she repressed her tears of helplessness, before she gave the shopper a smile. Then, she inquired, “Do you mean unripe plantago flour?”

“Whatever. Do you have it?” The domineering son of the Group Managing Director of the Blue Sea Oil and Gas Group, demanded cursorily. Meanwhile, he did not miss the opportunity to admire the beautiful, but poorly dressed damsel in front of him.

“Unfortunately, I don't have any,” Rose pacified. Before she could complete her sentence, he was out of her store, and walked into his bucket of bolts, and drove away.

“What an arrogant man,” she mumbled. The scanty store was operated by her mother until she passed on two months ago, and the management of the store rested naturally on her. Now, she looked away from the annoying car of the rude buyer, and hissed, “So what, if he is handsome.” Then she walked back to her seat, and faced her books. Likewise, she flipped through the pages to start her assignment. Suddenly, another shopper, Mrs. Sarah Owens, a beautiful woman about fort five years, who looked calm like her late mother, walked in, and called out, “Hello, young lady.”

Now, Rose looked up, and saw a woman who reminded her of her mother, and was startled.

“Good day, ma'am. How may I help you?” she greeted, with a broad smile. Now, she was off her seat, and walked to the door to meet the client. Without responding to her greetings, the desperate Mrs. Owens requested, “I need two bags of unripe plantago flour.” Likewise, she ran her eyes through the mini shop. Now, Rose was despondent, and informed, “I'm sorry, ma'am. I don't have it, and I don't sell it, either.”

At that point, the disappointed buyer gave her a dirty look as though it was an offense not to have what she wanted.

“Why don't you have it?” She asked angrily. Now, Rose was touched, and she asked further, “If I may ask, are you diabetic or something?” Before now, Sarah prepared her stuff by herself, but her mother's impromptu visit caught her unawares, and she resorted to searching for it in a suburb.

“Answer me, and stop asking questions. Do you have it?” She yelled and vented her disappointment, and her mother's ailment, to her. Now, Rose was frightened because she could not believe that her simple question could trigger such a reaction from the educated and a calm looking woman.

“Ah em no madam, but I can …,” she stammered. Nevertheless, Sarah ignored her, and walked away in dejection. “Have a nice day, ma'am,” she waved at the frustrated woman, who was already far away from her.

“Why is everyone looking for unripe plantago flour today, and what did I do wrong to warrant her anger?” Rose asked herself. Then, she walked back to her seat to continue with her school work, but to her chagrin, she could not concentrate.