Why I Hate Grocery Shopping
- Getting past the bakery is on a par with Odysseus sailing past the island of sirens. My strategy is to hug the deli on the right, but I can see the donut case and hear the table of 2 for 1 brownies calling to me on the left side of the wide aisle.
- Even as a "preferred shopper" at my local grocery store, which supposedly provides me with a substantial discount on my purchases, I spend a wad of money on a week's worth of food for four people and one zaftig cat.
- I always forget something on my list and have to go back the next day. Apparently, pepper jack cheese is necessary to my husband's existence.
- The bag boy calls me "Ma'am." While I appreciate polite teenagers, the moniker makes me feel OLD.
- Even though I'd rather have someone else put my groceries in the van, I always tell the bag boy I can do it myself because I need the exercise. Pathetic but true. Some days it's all the exercise I get.
- Unnecessary items, such as People magazine, which I know I can read the next time I bring my daughter to the orthodontist, and those occasional necessaries (i.e. peanut butter cups which truly are the best cure for PMS) end up in my cart. I have no will power.
- I buy lots of fruits and vegetables with the best of intentions to eat healthy, but some of them end up rotting in my refrigerator.
- I have to clean out the refrigerator.
- Other activities are far more appealing, such as checking my e-mail, petting my cat, or watching Oprah.
- People can learn a lot about you from what's in your basket. I'd like mine to say confident, sexy woman, who likes filet mignon and red wine. My basket says middle aged housewife who can't give up her addiction to coffee and bread, buys cheap paper towels, and owns a cat who likes clumping litter.
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