Supermarket Warfare

Sometimes, being the hunter-gatherer of the clan ain't all it's cracked up to be.

After work Monday I ran home long enough to see what Ma needed from the store, then set out across the mountain in the hippy van to do the grocery shopping. I had been putting it off for days because it's been so dang hot (no ac in the hippy van,) hoping the temperature would dip a little if I just held out.

No such luck.

I made my way up and down the aisles, always on the look out for sales. I seldom buy anything that isn't on sale and even then I compare the regular price to the sale price. Have ya'll noticed that they'll have something on the shelf for $1.50, then mark it "on sale" 3 for $5.00 ($1.67)? I mean, what about older, easily confused people? Hell, what about me on a bad day? The price of the food that people have to buy to feed their families shouldn't be screwed around with. Just put the flippen price on it and be done. Purposely trying to confuse and mislead people is not a marketing strategy. It's dishonest. Stop it.

Sheesh.

*slides soapbox back under desk*

Anywho...

The grocery shopping is always both depressing and stressful for me and the threat of impending, evil inducing girly hormones compounded these things greatly. I'm not sure if it's that I have to drive by my late grandmother's house and all of my father's family on the way there that gets me so down in the dumps or if it's just my absolute glee to be living in Podunk County (that's sarcasm you smell) getting the better of me. Either way, if I'm alone I usually end up working myself into a nice little bawling spell on the way home. Hell maybe I just need a good cry and that's just when I get the time.

The source of the stress however, is easier to identify. For instance, this week hotdogs were on sale. They had regular, bun-length, low-fat, fat-free and all-beef. You would think that if I'm buying the groceries and doing the actual shopping, I could just buy what my chubby little heart desires and be done with it.

You would be sadly mistaken.

Left up to me, I'd just buy the fat-free wienies and be done. The problem? If Ma sees the words fat-free, low-fat, reduced-fat, sugar-free or any form of the word "healthy" or possibly "fiber", she is not going near it with a ten foot pole. It's annoying, but at least I know where I stand. The Amazon though, may shun fat oozing, tasty foods today and then decide tomorrow that if she doesn't get her hands on some cheese cake or ice cream immediately, the world is going to spin off it's axis and go rolling off into galaxies unknown, ending life as we know it.

So there I stood, hovering over the wiener assortment, picking up the fat-free package, setting it back down. Reaching for the all beef hot dogs then reconsidering and putting them back. I could buy a pack of fat- free and a pack of regular, then just fix Ma a couple of those and the others for me and the Amazon. But what if the Amazon decides she wants the regular hot dogs? Maybe I should buy two packs of the regular ones and one fat-free.

My decision? Screw it. I bought two packs of fat-free wienies with the plan to stick them in the back of the freezer, label side down so that no one but me knows for sure if they're fattening or not.

I continued this product selection tug o' war with myself throughout the store, up and down aisles, tossing what I thought Tweedle Dum and Tweedle Dee might be happy with into my cart. I avoided the Pop Tarts completely, ya'll have no idea the kind of decision making skizzles it takes to work that one out. Frosted or not (the Amazon doesn't like frosted, but Ma insists on it), fruity or cinnamon (the Amazon prefers hers without cinnamon, but sometimes the only unfrosted variety they have is cinnamon apple.)

And people wonder why I'm crabby..

Ma's only specific request for this trip was that I pick up a pack of what we like to call peedalittle pads. The store where I do my hunting and gathering stocks the brand she likes, in the size package she wants, etc. and usually has plenty on the shelf. I trucked on down the hygiene aisle, feminine and otherwise. I reached for the preferred package of peedalittle pads, noticing a change in packaging and wondering if this was going to be an issue when I got them home, when I felt a familiar twinge in my gut.

Oh no.

I took a deep breath, convinced myself it was nothing and began moving down the aisle.

Twinge.

Within seconds my gut was screaming at me, "BATHROOM!!! NOW YOU HEIFER.. WADDLE LIKE THE WIND!!!!!!" (My gut often calls me playful nicknames.. we're close like that.)

There was no time to waste, the store potty facilities were back at the end of aisle one. I was some where in the vicinity of aisle nine or ten. My cart was loaded down and difficult to pilot with it's one gimp wheel, constantly veering to the left, nearly taking out an entire cardboard display of Fritos, but I was going to have to charge forward. I headed down the back row of the store, along the meat counter, past the frozen foods, shuffling as hard as I could in my lime green flipflops, moving at a slight jog, trying like hell to waddle with purpose while simultaneously performing a vice-like clench on my hindquarters.

It was with great relief that I spotted the ladies room down by the bakery. I pushed my cart against the wall, noticing a young man of about thirteen standing in front of the doorway of the bathroom. His mother was standing beside him with her cart, listening intently to him as he asked about the sign he could see beyond the "employees only" area.

"It says something about an alarm.. can you see it?" he asked. I smiled and moved a bit to the right, pointing towards the door, indicating that I'd like to get by.

His mother replied, squinting, "It says that an alarm will sound for fifteen seconds if you open that door, it must be an emergency exit."

"I don't think so," he said. I danced a bit to the left, still clenching... so close.. yet so far. The boy barely noticed me, concentrating intently on the sign, now propped up IN the doorway.

The time for niceties had passed. I either had to get Einstein Jr. here and his mother out of my way or there was going to be a prize winning clean up on aisle one, one for which paper towels or mop would not be sufficient. I glanced in my cart, contemplating the usefulness of a five pound bag of frozen chicken breasts as projectile weaponry.

Twiiiiiiiiiiiiingggggggggggge..... cleeeennnchhh....

I couldn't take anymore, I charged the potty door, waving my arms and exclaiming, "EXCUSE ME... PLEASE!!!" nearly knocking the squinting boy wonder through the plastic curtain he had been trying so hard to see past.

"Oh, sugah I think that lady needs to git past you, you're blockin' the doorway." Holy Mother.. DO YA THINK????

As I passed through the door and detected the strong scent of freshly bleached tile surfaces, a choir of chubby cheeked cherubs could be heard performing the Hallelujah Chorus.

Thankfully, disaster was diverted. Eventually, the groceries were gathered, loaded in to the van and carted back across the mountain and home. The Amazon made sure things were carried in and put away while I lounged on the couch, grateful that I wouldn't have to do that again.... for at least another week.

I hope ya'll had a happy Hump Day.