Filed under: Adventures in "Motherhood", Argh, Foodage, I am getting old...
When I was a kid, dreaming of little more than becoming a lawyer married to at least one of the two Jonathans – Taylor Thomas (oh ya, JTT was IT back then) or Brandis, who is clearly too dead to be wed at the moment – I never fondly looked into a future filled with chores, responsibilities and, my least favorite task, grocery shopping.
I have no idea why something so simple, so completely devoid of any brain power, would be so fervently avoided on my part. But it regularly is until something “drastic” happens, i.e. the dog has zero lamb pellets left to munch on for her daily meals or I’m down to the last three squares of toilet paper, knowing I’ll at least have to use the bathroom thrice more before venturing out the following day.
I tend to approach the task of grocery shopping with disdain on a semi-regular basis. If you had asked me to venture to the nearest mall (30 minutes away) and spend six hours perusing the stores, I’d do so with a grin on my face and credit cards in hand. But driving a measly five minutes/two miles to Food Lion causes me to grab my cell phone and call my grandmother who, I know, will talk for at least 20 minutes and, with any luck, keep me from dying from boredom as I toss food items into my cart.
You would think that shopping for necessities wouldn’t be so aggravating on my part, but the tedious undertaking brings me nothing but stress…
“Did I remember everything on my list (’cause oh ya, I make one just to destress myself as much as possible)?” “Do I really need the white bread and the cinnamon raisin bread?” “Holy crap, this cart is so full!” “Is there enough cash in my bank account or should I use a credit card?” “What kind of poor ass girl am I going to look like whipping out the Capital One?” “Great, I forgot deodorant (when I’m inevitably on the other side of the store).”
It’s an unending barrage of questions in my head, all as I attempt to add up the dollars I’ll be spending, which is nearly always more than I wanted to shell out for one grocery store visit. And then, as I step out the door with my 27 bags of groceries – half of which I may or may not touch, but felt that I “needed” – buyer’s remorse sets in when I realize what I could’ve gotten for my $143 that would’ve actually made me happy.
Yes, clearly I need to eat. It’s somewhat of a necessity for this whole living/breathing thing. But, jeez, must it be so damn stressful? Most days, I’d rather leave my cabinets as barren as the Mohave and travel to my nearest McD’s for a burger and fries. Perhaps I’m lazy, perhaps I’d simply like to avoid the hour-long hassle of dragging my cart up and down the aisles, twice, each. And don’t even get me started on Wal-Mart. Oh my … let’s avoid that topic as it pertains to this blog all together.
And what’s most unfortunate is that after glancing at nearly every purchasable object at my local grocer, I have to carry those 27 bags of groceries into my home, alone. At 5’1″, making it into the house – which means through the front door, the middle room and into the kitchen at the back of my place – in only one trip is often impossible … and keeping my dog away from the 13 bags I piled on my arms for journey #1 into Casa de Skutnick is nearly the same.
After at least 10 minutes of putting the items in their proper places in my cabinets/refrigerator/freezer/stove (I store bread there, and bagels, ’tis true), I don’t want to eat because I’ll then use something I’ll just have to purchase again soon. So I stare at my newly-bought food, attempting not to disrupt it – thus venturing out for Chinese or Taco Bell – just to keep from having to grocery shop again.
It’s a never-ending cycle, as far as I’m concerned. And since my dog has eaten only once in the last two days, me scraping every last morsel from her bag of Puppy Chow, it’s off to Food Lion I go following work today. Maybe I’ll try to score some overtime to avoid the task… Wish me luck!
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