I had my list and it was pretty much arranged in order of the store. However, the first thing on my list I couldn't find. Finally, with help from the produce dude, I discovered that the store was out of ginger root. Well, that threw me.
"Okay, calm down, Fay. It's a flipping grocery, you can do this."
So on I went, talking aloud to who knows what, just sort of encouraging myself down aisles of tons of stuff that no one actually needs. I was befuddled by the variety of marshmallows. It actually stopped me in my tracks.
"You only need marshmallows for S'mores. So just get a bag of large ones."
"Why are there seven hot dogs in a package of Hebrew National? Why seven? Okay, so how many hot dogs do I need? No! I'm not going to cry. Just grab some hot dogs and get on with it. What's this? Twelve hotdog buns in a package. God, help me."
I'm sure that for most of my life I breezed through a grocery with very little thought or angst. But those days are gone. It's a major thing now. It takes a long time to make a list and a very long time to negotiate my way through the grocery. I was aware of people looking at me oddly. Well, okay, I'm sort of used to that, but for different reasons, I guess.
I called my husband a couple of times for orientation. He's good about that. I had to crouch down to investigate cans of pumpkin. Wouldn't you think they'd have that at eye level this time of year? And for crying in a bucket, we're about to have Thanksgiving, put cans of French cut green beans, cans of cream of mushroom soup, and cans of French fried onion rings in one place. How tough is that?
By the time I got to the checkout, the young woman checker probably realized she was earning her $9 per hour. I was still talking to myself. But by then I was sort of laughing to myself about talking to myself. I told the bagger that I could bag the stuff myself, in my own bags, because I'd read "Principles of Bagging." I actually did read that pamphlet when my daughter was a teen and worked at a grocery. Why I needed to say that aloud to a complete stranger who was only trying to do his job is a mystery. It just popped right out of my mouth.
I made it home okay, but I was embarrassed. This isn't a village, but it isn't a city either. People are going to recognize me and realize that i'm a bit verklempt. I suppose that's something I should be embarrassed about. I dunno, really.
But I made it. My husband picked up the few things I needed that I forgot to get, and no one is going to starve at our day after Thanksgiving wiener roast. It makes more sense to me now, however, that I'm so consistently tired. It takes so much energy to do things that I used to do by remote control - eyes closed. Now I have to question decisions about things like what sort of marshmallows are appropriate or doing math to make buns and hotdogs come out even.
This is tough. It's a loss and I grieve it. But let's face it, it's also sort of funny. I mean it would be really funny if it weren't so damned real. I think I'll just pretend like it isn't real and laugh instead of cry.
I'm grateful I'm so dang cute.
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