Musings from some former inhabitants of the sprawling metropolis that is Prudhomme City

Saturday, April 19, 2008

Ben and Jerry Congratulate Me

by CajunKate

So today I had to go to the grocery store. This was not like an optional "Oh, I should swing by; we could use some pot pies" kind of thing. This was an "Oh my God, we're out of coffee and bread and milk, and anything else that might actually be edible" thing. I don't like going to the grocery store. It is a direct result of my well-documented social retardedness. I just know that something untoward will happen. Like the time I slipped on spilled sugar and took out a rack of coffee creamer. Or the time I reached over to grab a pack of gum, and the rest of the candy aisle collapsed on me. You know, stuff like that. It all kinda puts a damper on going out in public in general, but makes venturing to the grocery store a thing of phobic proportions.

These days I normally go to Wal-Mart. Why? In a nutshell, it's cheap. It's horrible and tacky and filled with people who, for the most part, should be part of a government mandated sterilization program, but it's cheap. However, today, I just couldn't deal with it so I went to Albertson's despite the fact that I was guaranteed to pay at least twice what I would pay at Wal-Mart. It was a small price to pay for my teetering hold on sanity, I figured. And I'm in Albertson's dickering with myself over whether I am going to die from cancer caused by a lifetime of overindulging in chemically saturated hamburger (the ground sirloin I was staring at looked particularly carcinogenic to me for some reason) when I notice a woman quietly, but openly, weeping. Man, I felt really bad for her! But then, because at heart I am selfish and vapid, I thought about how
I want to cry all the time in the grocery store. How I want to bawl and stamp my feet and throw avocados at unsuspecting produce boys. But I don't. And it struck me that this is one of the few situations in which I am actually able to control my need to sob, and I was pretty proud of myself in that moment. Like, I cry when the cat pukes on the floor for the nine hundredth and ninety ninth time this week, but I can control myself in the grocery store so...yay, me! Thus, to reward myself for my magnificent self-control in not allowing myself to weep in the meat section of the grocery store like that there poor lady, I got myself this:

Ahhhhh, that's the ticket. Now I can cry quietly at home over the expanding girth of my thighs... and all is well.

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