I’m an expert at late comebacks.

What I mean by that is I’m good at sitting in my car or standing in front of a mirror and replaying in my mind what I should have said.

For example, the other day as I was finishing  checking out my groceries, the cashier gave me my total and asked me if I wanted to donate a dollar to the food bank.

“No, thank you,” I said.

“What’s a buck to you when there are kids going around hungry,” he asked loudly as he ripped off my receipt and handed it to me while rolling his eyes.

I stood there and blinked.

Before I could even register what he just said, he walked off like he had to take a cigarette break because he was so disgusted with me not coming off of a dollar.

Embarrassed, I gathered up my little grocery bags and made my way to the parking lot thinking “What just happened?”

By the time I reached the car, my embarrassment morphed into anger. That’s when my “excellent” late-comeback skills kicked in:

“Who the blankety-blank do you think you are judging me for how I spend my money?”

No, wait …

“Umm, excuse me? Are you the charity police?”

Yeah! I should have said that! Wait …

“Pffft! How much money have you donated to the food bank today?”

No …

“You can kiss my @&%$!”

OK, so my late comebacks are not usually immature, un-Christian-like, reactionary remarks that tend to escalate beyond reason, but by the time I’ve come up with what I wished I would have said, it’s too late to even bother.

In the case of the grocery cashier, it’s not like I would have marched back into the store to tell him what was on my mind. Even if I did, I’m sure the guy had moved on and forgot about it.

Oh, well. Late comebacks aren’t entirely lame. If anything, I get to process my thoughts and feelings, and even though I don’t like being called out or one-upped, most of the time I come to the conclusion that I just need to get over myself.

A non-response is better than a foolish one.