I spend a lot of time shopping, so much so that the other day I almost asked the clerk at checkout what she thought. I’m practically on a first-name basis with most of them, which ought to be a clue. Then again, I have gotten into the habit of looking on the receipt for their names. For some reason–better customer relations?–the store includes their names on the grocery receipt. Checking it really isn’t as creepy as it sounds, since I don’t go seeking them out or calling them by name.
Even without confirming whether I spend too much time shopping, I can tell you that it must be true as evidenced by the fact that I went to the store three consecutive nights this week and forgot what I went for each time. Who does that? Teenagers and retirees. I don’t think the problem is medical, although I did take a left hook to the head the other day in boxing class. Not sure how much longer I can keep doing that.
When I shop, it’s almost always for food. That sort of defines “groceries” in my mind, and I am constantly trying to figure out dinner, usually unsuccessfully. I’ve had to take canned sardines off the list, because they give me a stomachache. Maybe the hot sauce has something to do with it. I admit, though, that in my perpetual quest for dinner, I have returned home with all kinds of things, including trash bags, toilet paper, light bulbs, shoe polish, super glue, pushpins, air freshener, sponges, dish towels, electrical tape, WD-40, birthday cards, American flags, and any assortment of flowers, bouquets, or plants. Now that I think of it, maybe that’s why I end up forgetting the food.
So, this week I went shopping for roasted chicken and deviled-egg potato salad. I’m really looking forward to potato salad this summer. That was last Tuesday. I still don’t have them. This is becoming a problem, because even when I remember to add things to the shopping list and remember to take the list, I still overlook some items. I’m not sure why. As I said, I don’t think it’s a medical issue. If you were to hypnotize me and ask me to tell the truth, I would probably say that I don’t take shopping seriously enough. It’s true. I find it exhausting. There is no joy in aisle three.
I also understand less and less. For instance, I came home one night this week with a party-sized box of Wheat Thins. I like the taste and love the salt. Imagine a salt stick for people. When I saw a new version as having “a hint of salt,” I expected the hint to be in addition to the regular amount. I mean, why mess with a good thing? What I discovered, to my dismay, was that the hint had replaced the original salt content, reducing the crackers to the consistency and flavor of hardtack.
Now, I get things wrong all the time by misreading, misunderstanding, or missing the mark completely. And I have done so throughout my life, not enough to threaten my survival as an individual or member of a family or group, but enough to keep me constantly learning, which I’m told is a good thing. So, who knows? Maybe joy will come.
Examples? I thought the French Foreign Legion was for Frenchmen who wanted to fight overseas. I once gulped down buttermilk on a dare, thinking it was milk they had melted butter into. I thought the “no hostage” waiver they made me sign when I did jail ministry meant that I couldn’t be taken hostage by the inmates. What it really meant was that the sheriff wasn’t going to come in and rescue me. I thought McDonald’s “billions served” referred to people, not hamburgers. Lastly, I put a Band-Aid on the inside of a sneaker that was giving me a blister instead of on the blister itself. What can I say? I was in high school. That last one has become part of family lore.
I’ll let you guess what I thought a gender reveal party was all about. I’ll tell you, I wasn’t even close.
Image credits: feature by Faran Raufi; shaker by Edi Libedinsky. Want more? Go to Robert Brancatelli. The Brancatelli Blog is a member of The Free Media Alliance, which promotes “alternatives to software, culture, and hardware monopolies.” Happy Mother’s Day to all readers!
