Tag Archives: soccer moms

Being Adult: Grocery Stores

29 Jun

I don’t know where it came from, but, somehow, I caught a cold. The first thing I did when I noticed the symptoms was make a trip to the grocery store—to pick up some medicine and chocolate, of course.

I’ve discovered, though, that it is impossible to go in a grocery store and just find a single item.

Finding the nasal decongestant in a grocery store is like trying to find a McDonalds in the middle of Narnia—you’re not sure how you got there or if the McDonalds is even there. There’s a McDonald’s everywhere though, right? So you think there’s gotta be one around there somewhere…

Ultimately, you’re tired, confused, and just want some nuggets (or nasal decongestant, as the case may be).

He could probably find a McDonalds, too. Mr. Tumnus is just that good.

[I just want to take a moment to point something out. My visual interpretation of Mr. Tumnus looks exactly like my interpretation of Hagrid. This is some high quality art work, y’all.]

Hagrid could probably be Mr. Tumnus in an overcoat and boots… and on stilts.

I have the exact same problem when I go into a grocery store to do normal shopping too.

Once every couple of weeks I will wake up and open the pantry door, looking for food. (Or coffee. In fact, it’s almost always coffee that I look for in the morning. Coffee is pretty much the substance I center my life around these days.)

Regardless, once I open this door two things immediately come to my attention:

  1. There is no coffee here…
  2. Wait. There’s no food here either.

And, thus, I know that I have to do grocery shopping.

The moment I enter a grocery store I’m simultaneously confused and annoyed

confused because I’ve instantly forgotten what exactly I need;

annoyed because some soccer mom comes up behind me with a buggy that’s as big as the SUV she drove to get there.

Normally, I have no problem with soccer moms—hey, my mom was one, AND they tend to make some awesome cookies. In a grocery store, though, they move through that place like they’re running a marathon, and, somehow, a couple of them tend to get stuck behind me.

She tries to cough quietly, telling me to move out of the way, but it comes out as more of a wheeze.

Quickly, I dodge right. BUT, little do I know, I’ve leaped right into the produce isle—soccer mom starts following me.

Throughout the store, we go one isle after another, and every few seconds I hear her tapping her shoe waiting for me to move along.

I’ve only been buying my own groceries for a half year now, though, and I still don’t know what I need to survive for two weeks. It still takes thought to figure out whether I not I need something.

It’s stressful, so I start to go a bit crazy with the shopping…


I know I need cheese, but we’re in an isle of Cheese-Its. We already passed the cheese section, didn’t we? Maybe. I don’t know.

And, really, they’re sort of the same thing.

Oh! Lunchables! Delicious!


Once we get to the cereal isle, soccer mom calms down a little—the sheer variety of cereals preoccupies her for the moment.

In this window of time, I have a moment to explore the pasta without her impatient sighs. This is probably why I eat so much pasta.


 Ew, what is this? It looks like horse radish… wait. It is horse radish.


The freezer isle is a little bit easier to manage.

She focuses on the kid’s frozen dinners. I focus on Lean Cuisines.

She gets those fancy pizzas with cookies or cheese-stuffed crust. I get the Kroger-brand stuff. If I close my eyes and pretend, the Kroger brand begins to taste just like the fancy stuff.


Hm. Do I already own bacon? Well, there ain’t no such thing as too much bacon!

Coffee! CoFfEe! COffeE CofFEE CoffEE! Yay!  


Toward the end of our grocery journey together, we reach the toilet-paper-and-napkins isle…

I look at the isle, then I stare hard at my buggy. Mainly, I want to know:

How fast will it go? And How far can it take me?

The opportunity it perfect. I’m in an isle that is covered in soft plushie cleaning supplies—it’s like bowling with bumper lanes! But I’m the ball!

BUT once I take that fateful step back—to gain some speed—I run into her. The soccer mom.

We exchange a look. Mine says, “Oh, my bad, forgot you were there.”

Hers says, “Don’t. You. Dare.”


As fate would have it, we both end up side-by-side at some self-checkout lanes, and it’s a constant staring match.

This lady gives me a judgment look because she knows I forgot the simple things, like milk and bread, and, instead, loaded up with chocolate and coffee and fruit roll-ups.

Meanwhile, I stare at her counting how many different types of yogurt she got—hell. I didn’t know that much yogurt existed. I do NOT remember seeing that much yogurt in the dairy section.

Rumor has it that there are these things called “grocery lists” that help people get what they need when they go shopping. From what I understand though, their existence is like Big Foot’s—people say they’ve seen it in the wild, but no one is able to prove it.

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