The other day, after lots of searching and a little more griping, I finally discovered another grocery store to check out. Not that we don’t have plenty around us, it’s just that I’m, well…picky. Throw in a few allergies, and grocery shopping-day seems more like a scavenger hunt than another errand to run, with a dose of “medicinal” chocolate always on hand by the end.
Unfortunately the new to me store didn’t have enough variety to check my entire list off, but it did have many items I hadn’t been able to locate anywhere in the area, as well as many new items that are sure to empty my wallet on the next trip down.
And I mean down, as in far, far away.
I swear, if I start shopping there regularly, it will feel more like a commute. Not to mention that organic” and “natural” doubles the bottom line, throwing that carefully analyzed budget out the window.
Still, it was good. Until the end, when it changed to perplexing. As the cashier scanned my organic this and natural that, she began by referring to me as hon – short for honey. A few scans later, it was pumpkin (guess she noticed those ten pounds I’m still trying to shed.) A little later, I evolved into a sweet pea. By the time the bags were loaded, and I was contemplating a latte, she might as well have referred to me as “dear produce section.”
Well, I guess that’s not too bad. If she starts to referring to me as “canola”, “olive”, or “safflower”, I think I’ll start to worry.
But I’m not giving up my chocolate.