Grocery shopping day.
A day better known in our home as the day we finally cave in to the fact that the only food left in the house is the stuff most likely to survive a nuclear holocaust. Pickles, canned tomatoes and taco seasoning packets. You might think twice about your shopping habits after you scan your cabinets and realize what useless, non-nutritious garbage you’d be left to eat should the zombie apocalypse really happen tomorrow.
If there is one thing I could possibly hate more than sitting in the worst cluster of traffic, it would be shopping for groceries. I’d seriously consider hurling myself into traffic, if it meant getting me out of the entire food shopping experience.
Only a bachelor is capable of thriving on hot dogs alone, so we know what must be done. One of us will go to the grocery store on the way home from work.
My husband always swoops in for the rescue.
“Just send me your list” he says, (and he will stop on the way home).
A list? Well aren’t you the comedian. How about I just give you a list of all the reasons why I can’t go to the grocery store.
I don’t have a list. When you head into a grocery store with no game plan or structure, it becomes a shopping moronathon. This is precisely how one ends up eating taco flavored pickles for their last supper during Armageddon. Grocery lists are just not number one on my priority list, and you guessed it, that priority list is yet one more list I do not have sorted out yet.
I will shop for our family of 3 as though we are feeding a family of 12. Family size really has a way of luring you in. Well-played marketing geniuses, well-played. After all, more is more right? The more I buy now, the less likely I will need to return to this hell any time soon. Sounds logical to me, but there is absolutely nothing logical about those obnoxiously oversized boxes of Cheerios that don’t fit inside any of the cabinets.
There will be no budget, and no standards. Our daughter is likely to be with me, therefore my goal is to get in and get the hell out. I will not have time to review price tags, do any comparative analysis on nutritional values, avoid nitrates, sugar, or buy humanely raised chicken breast. I will simply come home with whatever looks edible, at premium dollar, no less.
I will over analyze the food choices necessary to get us through the week. Is this enough milk? Do I have enough chips? Is there a good balance of salty and sweet snacks? There is nothing worse than getting home only to realize you bought zero chocolate. What if a gummy bear craving strikes? Better get some just in case. I had better put something healthy in this cart to balance out the junk to shit ratio so the cashier doesn’t judge me. This cart is one jelly bean away from developing an insulin resistance.
I think I am Giada De Laurentiis. Cooking is fun, but in my irrational state of grocery shopping madness, I will buy absurd amounts of fresh produce to prepare a five course meal each day of the week. Sadly, it will all go to waste. I am overambitious, and fresh produce just doesn’t have the shelf life of a humungous box of Cheerios. Produce doesn’t fit into my “shop once per month” cycle the way I’d envisioned it, but I never learn my lesson.
I’ll never make it to the grocery store. I’ll get so sucked into the Pinterest vortex that my innocent search for dinner recipes has turned into a full-fledged kitchen remodel.
It will take me five hours to shop. My thoughts are too disorganized. Instead of sending my husband the organized list he requested, I text him specific requests at random. Like the outbursts of a person with Tourette’s Syndrome…
“Shit! We need cheese!”
“Wine…the kind with no arsenic!”
My husband does a pretty good job deciphering my A.D.D. list. If it were me in the store, every time I turn a corner I’d see something that triggers a memory of a meal I want to make. Thus, I’d be retracing my steps again and again. It’s really exhausting.
People don’t obey the natural flow of shopping cart traffic in the isles. This makes me want to punch them in the face. If your cart is too full of crunchy granola and rice cakes to see that it is blocking my view of the cocoa puffs I might punch you. If your cart is left blocking the middle of an isle and I can’t reach the applesauce, I am going to teach my daughter how to karate chop your salad.
I’d prefer to not end up on the evening news for all the wrong reasons, especially with my daughter present. So please, for the sake of my anger management (and the safety of everyone around me), let’s just agree not to send me to the grocery store tonight…or ever.
My husband gets the food, and no one gets hurt, unless he forgets the wine…