I hate grocery shopping. I shouldn’t say that, because I really don’t mind it. What I hate are the people that park their cart diagonally across the aisle so that no one can pass. It’s like the bridge in Monty Python; I keep expecting a man-eating rabbit to jump out from the cart. I also hate when people walk REALLY slowly, perusing the shelves and not paying attention to where they’re going or who’s around them.
This afternoon I sat for what felt like five minutes waiting for a woman to move away from the canned tomatoes. I even said “excuse me” so I could grab my crushed tomatoes and leave, but she didn’t budge. She finally noticed me, and said “they make so many options, I just can’t decide.” Yes, thank you. I can see that there are fifteen billion different kinds of diced tomatoes, and I sympathize with deciding between no-salt-added versus tomatoes-with-green-chiles. But I am in a hurry. I left my daughter screaming at home with Nana so I could get the shopping done in a reasonable amount of time. No, this does not equal spending twenty minutes waiting for you to decide on Red Gold versus generic.
On the bright side, I only do major grocery shopping about once a month, which is great. I make Tom stop at the Walmart near our house on his way home from work if we need something essential, like eggs or hamburger buns or raspberry chocolate chunk ice cream.
Sweet Pea also got treats during this grocery trip: a fresh mango, and little rice cookies that look like wagon wheels. I can’t figure out who invents this stuff. In what world does someone say, “I wonder if we took rice and other stuff and formed it into a shape like a wagon wheel? You think kids would eat that?” I can’t argue though; Sweet Pea LOVES them. I wish she showed half that enthusiasm for her homemade chicken and rice dinner.
Tangential Baby Story: Sweet Pea is on the move more and more these days. Two days ago I was washing my hands when I heard a crash from the living room. I ran out and saw that Sweet Pea had pulled the metal plate off the front of our fireplace and was pulling at the lovely-colored electrical wires inside. Needless to say I panicked that she had been electrocuted, but she luckily hadn’t gotten that far yet. After that scare, I put a big body pillow in front of said panel to prevent Sweet Pea from reaching it. Of course, once you put a big black object in front of something, it’s like it disappears. Sweet Pea doesn’t even get close to the fireplace, doesn’t acknowledge its existence anymore. I wish I could be like that. Oh, let’s just hide that dirty laundry behind a pillow. No one will ever notice it there. Sweet.