©Jeanne E Webster
I went shopping today for a few items, mainly groceries. First, I lurked in the pharmacy area for bathing stuff then made the rounds of assorted clutter– glue sticks, yarn, craft supplies and such. I had my list and was prepared for my self-allotted time to shop. After visiting the rest room, where I rested, washed my hands and dried them according to the explicit instructions, I was back out onto the main floor in just a few minutes. I detest those self-flush toilets! I was “resting” on one of them once that insisted I was finished every time I leaned forward just a tad bit. That gadget must have surprised many a rester.
Back to shopping, I inspected the pet supplies aisle, picked out a few cans of dog food and a cuttlebone for my cockatiel. Ahead was the sundry aisles, should have been a snap. I selected some room aromatics, a jug of laundry soap, a couple of mousetraps, and 12 rolls of toilet paper. Almost through, produce aisle awaits!
I am not a happy shopper. I detest the ordeal. Give me a list and I’ll go through a familiar store in no time flat. Usually; today was an exception. Perhaps I should not have shopped today, it being Sunday, the Lord’s Day. In my previous life, we never went anywhere on Sunday, ‘cept church and Sunday school. We stayed home the rest of the day and read the Bible, sat outside in decent weather in the porch swing, watched the chickens go from yard corner to fence corner, kicking up lawn stubble as they searched frantically for bugs and more bugs. Occasionally we were allowed to go swimming at the lake down the road apiece, if it was warm enough out. If it wasn’t warm enough, we would go to the lake and pitch stones across the water or look under rocks for fishing worms. Then if that adventure was profitable enough, we’d do a little fishing from the bank of the pond next door to my uncle’s house. But we never, ever went shopping. We wouldn’t dare cause anyone to have to work on the Lord’s Day. No siree.
To get back to shopping, I was almost to the produce aisles, almost done with my ordeal in the store. I suddenly remembered I needed some aluminum foil, as I was in the midst of fixing Christmas recipes. I had already baked Gram’s filled cookies, a full charge of oatmeal chocolate chip cookies, a batch of penuche fudge, and a new recipe of oatmeal cranberry bars. All I had left to bake was the old-fashioned sugar cookies and maybe if everyone behaved, a batch of brownies with a great big Hershey bar in the middle of it for added effect.
I returned to the paper product aisle and found the foil. All I needed was one roll, and not the heavy type for roasting turkeys and such, just one roll of regular foil. So much for that. There before my eyes on the shelves from top to bottom was FOIL—heavy-duty foil, 20 feet of foil, oiled foil, frosted foil, thin foil, 50 feet of foil, extra heavy duty foil, 200 feet of foil, 3 foot long foil, unoiled foil, brand name foil and store brand foil.
This is why I do not like to shop. I make a list, a simple list of standard things, no embellishment stuff or bells and whistles on it, just ordinary everyday things. You’d think a person could go into a store, walk over to the right shelf, pick out the item, and set it into the shopping cart. No major decisions; simple equations. Go on to the next item, select it and set it into the cart and in no time at all, you’re checking out at the register, walking out to the parking lot, in your car and, poof, you’re home again without a hitch.
It doesn’t work that way and I know it. I don’t want to have to make decisions that materialize from the atmosphere within the store instead of my organized frame of mind in my own home. Too complicated.
I made it home with all my STUFF, unpacked it and put it away. The box of ungreased, unlined, non-perforated, non-heavy-duty, uncrinkled, 200 feet of Great Value Aluminum Foil currently resides in my cupboard. And that is that. Tomorrow I am going to bake.