So today, I’m taking you grocery shopping with me. It’s very glamorous. Pshhaw you say, that is not exciting. I know, but it is real life. Quite frankly you should feel honored. The grocery store is my solace. An hour alone with my thoughts, a well-organized list (squuueaaalll!!!), and people I don’t know, need to speak with, or be fake & polite too. I rarely speak to them out loud, but boy howdy is my inner monologue on fire.
Scene: Parking lot
Huh. Lady, I’m happy you bought your kid a soda, could you give it to her in the store or the car. There is no need to stop in the middle of the road.
Ugh. Other lady. I’m in a car. You’re in capri pants. I can squish you. Move!
Scene: Inside – nonfood side:
Why is there a sign counting down until Easter? It’s not like you’re closed or religious or have a reputation of being decent to your staff. Oh wait, you’re trying to get me to hurry up and buy a basket o’ crap. Nope. None needed. Sweet pea is too litt… oohhh a fluffy bunny. In the buggy.
Chocolate eggs. Chocolate bunnies, chocolate, chocolate, chocolate. In the buggy.
Toilet paper, paper plates, dish soap. In the buggy we go. Is that guy eyeballing my TP?! WTF? Everyone should use this stuff. Oh wait. He and scantily clad woman are arguing over best type. For us, ultra soft; my wiping skills are a-okay and no need for stronger ply.
Oooh. More candy. I wonder if the early stuff is the stuff that didn’t sell last year. What is the shelf life of a peep? ETERNITY. And we’re walking.
Scene: Inside – food side:
Cottage cheese – small curd? What is average curd? Hello, Milk. Why is always so crowded over here. Just like the bread aisle. What genius put this in the corner? Time to display my ninja buggy skills.
Text husband: Need ice cream? (smiley face). Response: No. (no emoji?! How can he not send an emoji?! Is he mad at me? Don’t be a girl. He is parenting Sweet Pea solo. Keep strolling.)
Cookie aisle! It is my mecca. Ugh. Man on it. Get off buddy. Oh yeah, you’re single. Fifteen boxes of frozen dinners, a case of beer, and some ritz crackers. Dude, you need a woman. Or a nutritionist.
Oh hello nice people on my pasta aisle discussing boxed potatoes. Oh, do I detect an English accent? Think of something witty – HARRY POTTER! GOD SAVE THE QUEEN! Wait, you’re at a *mart in Texas. You don’t get my wit. But I see you hit the beer aisle first. At least you’re priorities are straight. Welcome to Texas.
Sigh. Why don’t women wear shoes that fit properly? It’s the one thing that (usually) doesn’t care if you’re carrying a little extra holiday weight and yet there you are lady, shoving your size 10s into an 8.5 flips flops. It is way less attractive to see your scaly dogs flopping over the edge. I can see your waist size, I can’t tell your shoe size.
Baby aisle: Sweet mother of WHY DO DIAPERS COST SO MUCH? At least I have my coupon that saves me 50 cents. Why do they get special toddler sized crackers? Sorry kid, you’re getting goldfish. Organic bites my right pinky. You licked a shoe this morning.
Lady aisle: Seriously? Does everyone have to be on this aisle together? No wonder the world is so grumpy. Women in the world have synced their menses. Ah, she looks too young to have a period. Sorry, Chippy, you’ve got years of this BS ahead of you.
Tee hee, the irony of pregnancy tests next to condoms.
Oh d@mn. It’s the lady I couldda, woulda, shoulda hit in the parking lot. Whew. She smiled. Doesn’t know it was me who thought about running her down. Head back down. Stroll away quickly.
Open register. Open register. I just need an open register. Bingo! She looks young, capable, and fast! Did she just card the old couple for spray paint? They don’t look like they huff.
Hello Chimonda (yes that is her real name, I double checked). Yes, I found everything I need. Huh. This is the first time I’ve spoken in an hour. She must get to see people buy the weirdest things. Wait, why is she commenting on all my chocolate? I have a kid (who isn’t allowed to eat it and I sure don’t share with non-emoji texting husband!), but she doesn’t need to know that. No I don’t need a bag for the TP. I am not embarrassed. Again, who is not purchasing this stuff?
Back into the sunshine and not stopping in the middle of the road like some other people. Pat on the back. I am such perfection.