Hi, sorry, could you direct me to the meat section?

I have been exhausted today by my exertions this weekend, and my neighbour’s rather interesting definition of a good night’s sleep -- specifically what constitutes the appropriate length of said sleep. I know that my defined 10 hours is deemed a bit excessive by SOME, but 5 is still a TEENSY bit under the mark...
Nevertheless, although I ended up declining the hockey game invitation (I mean, who are we kidding here? Everyone knows I would have been asleep on the couch regardless of any prior deprivation), I dragged my sorry ass to the grocery store.
I had made myself a promise, in the interest of my bank account, that I would no longer patronize the A&P in downtown Kingston, because of it’s blatant price gouging. However, I was tired, craving juice, and well, it’s just a block away.
So, wearing my flip flops and my grandfather’s sweater, I trudged to the grocery store and walked around with my basket. Standing in the checkout line, I looked at my purchases - salad, milk, bananas, tortillas, conditioner, juice, I suddenly had a horrifying vision of myself as that sad single woman with her hair slapped up, and her big sunglasses, forced out to the grocery store because the last hard chunk of cheese in the fridge has finally surrendered to the mould.
Not that I was measuring up the guy in front of me as a possible life mate (of course, one does do SOME measuring -- I am human after all), but I suddenly understood the whole grocery store meeting place cliche -- because maybe food shopping is the only thing that can drag you out during the week when you’re working 9 - 5, and maybe there’s the men alongside the produce and your blood sugar is just REALLY REALLY LOW -- and it made me feel very old, and very single, and very shitty.
But then I was out in the parking lot, and I remembered the one and only time I’ve ever been hit on in a grocery store. It was just about the most hilarious thing ever, because not only was it a really lame attempt at a come on I WAS STANDING RIGHT NEXT TO MY MOM. Granted it was France, and French men can make just about anything sexy -- or I should say rather that they can FIND just about anything sexy, but still. It was almost impressive it was so bad.
Anyway, I thought about this as I walked through the parking lot, and by the time I reached the street I felt better. I’m not that sad. Not yet anyway. Me? I can still make myself laugh outloud by the power of my thoughts alone. What you got?

I’m definitely going to Food Basics next time.

Song of the Day: It's beginning to get to me ~ Snow Patrol