Dear Elderly Woman who makes my job slightly more difficult.

Dear Elderly Woman who makes my job slightly more difficult,
   I appreciate your age group. You survived the Great Depression as a wee-tot. You fought the Axis powers of World War II. You helped make America a superpower. You attempted to raise some rebellious children. You may have seen a dinosaur or two. You make my job slightly more difficult.
   Go ahead, I know you see me standing there next to my 5 rows of carts of 25, that needs just ONE more. It's 9:42 PM, I get off in three minutes. And there you are. With that ONE cart I need. With ONE bag in that cart. That bag is filled with stationary paper (Who even uses that anymore? It's called an email). Surely that is light enough to lift up the bag, and hand the cart back to me? No. Let's just waltz out the door with the cart. Great.
   Now I have to wait approximately 45 seconds before I can creepily stalk you to your car. Once I put my coat and vest on, I see you have screwed me over to the extreme. You parked in the outer extremes of the parking lot. Lady, nobody is here at 9:42 PM. You could probably apply for a handicap parking permit.
   You know what I really love? When I'm five feet away from you, about to pop the question: Would you like me to take your cart for you (with a cheesy smile on my face)? You decide to push the cart, down the parking lot (Target had the wonderful idea of making a parking lot with a slope). The worst sound in the world is a rogue cart flying until it comes to abrupt halt against the curb. Great, now I have to walk even more. It pains me to see you start your 1997 Toyota Camry. I hope you have a great night.

Sincerely,
Target Cart Dude