1. The young man stocking the produce section will be really pissed if you don't take his suggestion of which tomato to purchase for your fish tacos. He will glower at you until you leave in a haste due to his icy glare. I don't care if those bland, pale red hothouse tomatoes are on sale; I want a REAL 'mater! Or at least as close as I can get before my gardening-minded family send some my way. Sorry, dude, but I'll stick to what I want, not what you deem appropriate for my fiesta.
2. I didn't realize how many people took their Hoveround to the grocery on a weekday afternoon. Now I know. The answer? A lot. They usually have an accomplice, so I'm dodging the Hoveround, the cart, and two humans in a small aisle. To compound matters, the Hoveround driver usually stays on his side, but directs the accomplice who is shopping on both sides for him. Result? Wait. Wait. Wait. Wait. Until I just give up, turn around, and hit the next aisle. Who needs toilet paper, anyhow?!
3. Bathing is optional at the grocery. I don't mean in that, "Hmmm, their nails look a lil' dirty" kinda way. I mean, HOLY-SHIT-HOLD-YOUR-BREATH!! kinda stink. The kind that permeates every single molecule in the building. To make matters worse, the offender had apparently forgotten something, so he'd backtracked through the store and re-generated the original stench zone. I almost made a run for the pharmacy to rub a little Vicks under my nose like the coroners do. Trust me when I say it's hard to shop for delectable vittles when your face is buried in your shirt halfway past your eyeballs.
I think I will go back to my normal routine: milk, bread, cereal. This is the fastest way to complete the grocery trip. Besides, I'm sure all the restaurants/fast food joints in town have been missing us. I'd hate to disappoint them. Plus, I think this is a Heavenly message that I'm just not meant to cook. Who am I to argue with that?!