I’d like to warn you, before this relationship of ours becomes too serious, that I sometimes refer to myself in the 3rd person…most often as “Momma”.  I’m not quite sure how this came to be…where it originated or why I haven’t been disowned - by friends and family alike - for this odd behavior.  Maybe they find it humorous.  Or it’s possible they find it terribly sad and have taken me under their collective wings, much like a gigantic tortoise protecting an abandoned puppy (that really happened…I swear…but I’m not sure it was a puppy, or a tortoise for that matter).

Why come clean now?  Because I had a tramatic experience today, and as I thought about how to properly convey my feelings, the first thing that popped into my head was:  “Momma’s about to lose it” (said with snap, head roll and exaggerated southern accent).  Mmmm hmmm.

Last night, as I again ate raw spaghetti noodles, Wheat Thins and leftover Easter chocolates, I realized it was time.  Time to fill my abandoned refrigerator and cupboards.  Time to rise above my grocery store hatred.  Time for Momma to conquer her demons and grow a pair (well, not literally grow a pair…but you get the idea).  After very little thought, I decided to pop a few Tums and sleep on it.  Tomorrow was another day, and might bring with it a renewed attitude toward my least favorite repetitive task.

7:00 a.m.  Bella is stalking me.  She has a full bowl of food, which doesn’t seem to cut it.  She’d like it topped off.  I refuse to be at her beck-and-call.  I ignore her intense stare and go about my morning routine.  Big mistake.  Just tripped over determined cat and slammed shin into coffee table.  Curses!

7:03 a.m  Top off cat food.  Bandage shin.

The morning comes and goes.  I tackle work tasks with renewed passion, unnecessarily vacuum my bedroom and stretch a 10-minute phone conversation with my father to a half hour.  My mother might diagnose this as a clear case of avoidance…a dance she’s seen me perform a time or two hundred thousand.  But I just call it…well, let’s see…it’s possible that…excuse me for a minute, would you?  That entertainment center needs some serious dusting.

1:30 p.m.  The house is spotless.  Work projects are organized.  I just finished alphabetizing my spice rack.  I’m hungry…and I can’t eat one more piece of raw spaghetti.  It’s time.

But first, I need to replace some skincare products.  Looks like a trip to Sephora is in the cards.  Goodie!

2:15 p.m.  How does a person spend more on skincare than on gas and utilities?  This liquid gold better turn back time.  No…I mean literally.  When this 3 oz. jar is opened, it better birth a time machine and take me back to 1990.

Do I really need to go to the grocery store?  Stomach rumbles.  ALRIGHT! I HEAR YOU!

2:29 p.m.  Pull into Kroger parking lot.  Pulse quickens.  I better get a good cart or I’m turning right around.  I’m serious…I will not stand for it!

2:31 p.m.  Cart is perfect.  I’ve never found a cart this perfect.  Not a squeak.  No hitch in its get-along (Texas term).  Nothing.  This must be a sign.  Maybe the grocery store and I are meant to be friends.

2:50 p.m.  I’m stuck behind a 90-year-old couple…for the 3rd time.  They don’t seem to see - or hear me.  I’m holding my breath.

2:58 p.m.  There is a strange man that keeps talking to me.  Something about his bad eating habits and can I show him where I got my bag of trail mix.  I point to the other side of the store and rush around the corner.  Jesus, it’s the old couple again.  How can two humans be so slow, but consistently beat me to the next aisle?  I try to turn around, but a family of five is parked behind me.  I’m trapped like a dog.  I’m not breathing.  Exhale.  Deep breath in.

3:09 p.m.  I made it to checkout!  My cart is overflowing (it’s been four weeks, folks).  I’m almost home free.

“I couldn’t find that trail mix…hehe…maybe you were lying…”

Oh no.  Please, Lord, no.  Creepy guy is behind me.  Checkout gal and sacker are hanging their heads, avoiding eye contact.  “You can’t abandon me like that!” I want to scream.  But instead I emit a nervous giggle, swipe my card and sign on the dotted line.  I have no idea what I just paid.  I just want out.

3:18 p.m.  Groceries are in the trunk and I’m safe behind the wheel.  Creepy man is in the next row skeeving out another customer.  I duck as I drive out of the parking lot.

3:52 p.m.  After four trips up my three levels of stairs, the groceries are all in the house and put away.  I just ate a sandwich!  Did you hear that?  I had the bread (and meat) to make a sandwich!  This is big.  I take a last swig of cold milk and momentarily relax on the couch.  My overriding thought?  This shit better last me a looooong time.

Pic 1:  Grocery store to you…haunted house to me.  This pic was taken pre-shopping.  I also took one post-shopping…I was giving the store “the bird”.  I would post that as well, but my finger came out looking more like a tiny little penis.  And this is a porn-free site.

Pic 2:  Four weeks worth of groceries?  If I’m lucky.  Damn, did i forget the spaghetti?

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