Editor's Note: These posts are being added from my standalone blog, Diary Of A Fatass. The unedited version goes up there first.I
used to love going grocery shopping. It was 30-45 minutes of solitude,
wandering through the aisles and picking up goodies here and there.
I
could spend five minutes picking between brands of cookies. Do I want
Oreo Double Stuffs, so I can screw the tops off and make Oreo Quadruple
Stuffs (patent pending)? Or do I want those soft-batch cookies, which I
know have to be laced with enough preservatives to keep Pam Anderson
looking fresh for another century, but they taste oddly great?
I
could peruse the chip section. Do I feel adventurous enough to try some
of those new and exotic flavours of potato chips -- Steak N' Onion,
Dill Pickle, Ketchup -- or do I just want the old standbys? Speaking of
that, what is the point of Ketchup-flavoured chips? Couldn't you just
eat fries and dip them in ketchup, and even just dip the chips in it?
Is that too hard for some people?
Do I need some lunch meat?
What's on sale in the deli? Liverwurst? Genoa salami? Macaroni and
cheese loaf? Hell, give me a pound of each of them!
I never
walked out without a 12-pack of soda, and maybe something dessertish
from the day-old bin, and of course several loaves of bread which would
go moldy before I got through the second.
I thought about all of
this standing in the checkout line the other day. In my cart? Spinach,
fat-free chicken and turkey breast, one loaf of whole-wheat bread, soy
milk, egg whites, pretzels and some grapes. It barely made a dent in
the huge cart I had pushed around. So why was it more than I used to
spend when the cart was damned near full?
No matter. I still get the same number of meals out of it, and I don't feel like I'm wheeling my death around in front of me.