grocery adventures
Dec. 4th, 2003 12:41 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
fearlesstempSo the last few days my eyebrows have veered into dangerous Manbrow territory, which in turn causes me to become neurotic and convinced I look like John Belushi (which, by the end of the day today, I think was a possibility), all because of my cat Molly. The connection isn't initially clear, but trust me, this is all her fault. The other day I was being a cuddly catowner, scratching her behind the ear, when I discovered a big gross tick there! Big! And gross! I had to use the tweezers from my makeup bag to get rid of said tick, and after that the pair of tweezers was dead to me, or at least to my eyebrows, leaving me with no means of maintaining them and so my eyebrows grew to Manbrow proportions. I have gone to the store several times since The Tick Incident, but every time I would wander around the Beauty section thinking, "I know there was something I wanted here..." and leaving with something stupid, like new hair product or mascara, no tweezers.
But tonight! Tonight I finally remembered that I needed to buy new tweezers, and said remembering happened just before I left the house to pick up some stuff at the store for my parents, so I got tweezers! And no longer have Manbrows. But! While I was at the store!
I had to buy dishwashing detergent (request from Mom Unit) and beer (request from Dad Unit), which totally explains why I ended up dropping $50+ at the store. It was beyond my control! Really, it was. See, first of all, I had to swing by the sample candy section because I had hummus mouth from all the carrots and hummus I'd eaten as a pre-dinner snack. And then I wanted to go pick up the tweezers to Fight the Manbrow, and what happened to be in between the two sections but the magazine and book rack? So I stood there for a minute, perusing, eating my mini peanut butter cup, thinking to myself, "You know what, self, I wish I knew of an author who was as clever, funny, and all around great as Jennifer Crusie, because I could really go for another of her books." And then I looked up and THERE IT WAS, a book of hers I have not read! Like Christmas!
So I had to buy that.
Also, between the books and the tweezers was the moisturizer section, and I need more hand cream, so I had to stop there. They did not have my hand cream, but they did have vaseline and latex gloves, which my dermatologist had recommended to me once as a means of getting rid of the dry skin that aggravates my eczema, and so I had to buy that! Obviously. And the tweezers. And Kleenex, because I keep stealing my friendly cubicle neighbor's Kleenex and I don't want her to stop liking me, because she is sane and not very boring.
I picked up my father's beer (Milwaukee's Best Light), and remembered I needed to get some potatoes for my grandfather (OreIda Twice Baked, he LOVES them), but in between lay the most dangerous section of all: The Video and DVD Corner. At first I said to myself, "Self, you have self-control. You can look at the reasonably-priced used DVDs and see if there's anything there you really want, like that $7.95 DVD of Orange County you regret never purchasing." This strategy worked for approximately 3.7 seconds while I peered through the selection, and after that I couldn't stop staring at the Pirates of the Caribbean display. I kept moving around the Previously Viewed DVD section so I could be closer to the Pirates display, like a lion stalking her prey, only bulkier, less coordinated, and with manbrows.
Finally I caved and walked over and stood in front of the display case, possibly drooling. The Video Guy asked me if I wanted to purchase the DVD, and after telling him I was considering it, I walked away. Actually, what happened was, he asked if I was going to buy it, and I said, "Yes – no – I mean – Okay, see, I'm going to go buy some potatoes, and then I'm going to come back and see."
"Okay, Crazy Potato Lady," Video Guy said.
I picked up the potatoes and came back to the desk, asked how much it was, saying to myself, "Self, if it's less than $19, get it. You deserve it. But more than that – one penny more than that, you should wait, wait for Christmas, ask for it as a gift. Saving is important! And it is the holiday season, the season of giving!"
"$23.00," Video Guy said.
"I'll take it," I said.
After geeking out and making sure that the DVD had the widescreen version, I made my way to the cashiers where, halfway through ringing up my order, the cashier held up my box of dishwasher detergent and pointed out it was leaking all over the conveyor belt, and had been leaking for a while. I, always super-observant, had not noticed at all. I had to run back and get another one, which I hate doing, because it's always such a rush and stressful and in the stressy rushfulness, I completely forget the layout of the store and end up wandering down the coffee aisle instead of the cleansers, getting frustrated, and it's just Not Good. I finally returned with the detergent somewhat breathless, altogether flustered, and set about fishing out my credit card and ID (for the beer), all before having one of the weirdest conversations of my recent experience.
"You know, I'm only five years younger than you," the cashier said out of the blue, after entering my date of birth.
"Oh," I said. "That's, well. Uh, do people usually think you're younger?" At this point I realized that the cashier did look about thirteen.
"Yeah," the cashier said. "It gets annoying, you know? I mean, I go down to the jail a lot, and there, they're always, 'Hey, girl, you have to have a parent with you to visit!' and I have to be 'Hey, man, I'm eighteen!' The last guy thought I was nine."
"Oh," I said, "That must be hard. At the jail."
"Yeah, well," she said, gesturing for me to hand over my discount card. "It's harder with guys. Because even if a girl tells them she's eighteen, and they sleep with her, they can still get charged. I mean, even if the girl has a fake ID – even if the girl's mother says she's eighteen, if they guy sleeps with her and she's not, it's still rape. Isn't that stupid?"
"Well, uh–"
"It's like speeding, you know? Even if your speedometer is broken, you've still broken the law."
"I never – "
"I think the girls who hand over fake Ids in those situations should be arrested, not the guys."
"Hm," I said, signing the credit receipt. "Well, you know, good luck with that."
And then I bolted.
And now it's after 12:30, and I meant to go to bed an hour ago, blah blah blah, I say this every night. Off to put on the vaseline and latex! That makes it sound like I'm in for a way more interesting night than I am.
But tonight! Tonight I finally remembered that I needed to buy new tweezers, and said remembering happened just before I left the house to pick up some stuff at the store for my parents, so I got tweezers! And no longer have Manbrows. But! While I was at the store!
I had to buy dishwashing detergent (request from Mom Unit) and beer (request from Dad Unit), which totally explains why I ended up dropping $50+ at the store. It was beyond my control! Really, it was. See, first of all, I had to swing by the sample candy section because I had hummus mouth from all the carrots and hummus I'd eaten as a pre-dinner snack. And then I wanted to go pick up the tweezers to Fight the Manbrow, and what happened to be in between the two sections but the magazine and book rack? So I stood there for a minute, perusing, eating my mini peanut butter cup, thinking to myself, "You know what, self, I wish I knew of an author who was as clever, funny, and all around great as Jennifer Crusie, because I could really go for another of her books." And then I looked up and THERE IT WAS, a book of hers I have not read! Like Christmas!
So I had to buy that.
Also, between the books and the tweezers was the moisturizer section, and I need more hand cream, so I had to stop there. They did not have my hand cream, but they did have vaseline and latex gloves, which my dermatologist had recommended to me once as a means of getting rid of the dry skin that aggravates my eczema, and so I had to buy that! Obviously. And the tweezers. And Kleenex, because I keep stealing my friendly cubicle neighbor's Kleenex and I don't want her to stop liking me, because she is sane and not very boring.
I picked up my father's beer (Milwaukee's Best Light), and remembered I needed to get some potatoes for my grandfather (OreIda Twice Baked, he LOVES them), but in between lay the most dangerous section of all: The Video and DVD Corner. At first I said to myself, "Self, you have self-control. You can look at the reasonably-priced used DVDs and see if there's anything there you really want, like that $7.95 DVD of Orange County you regret never purchasing." This strategy worked for approximately 3.7 seconds while I peered through the selection, and after that I couldn't stop staring at the Pirates of the Caribbean display. I kept moving around the Previously Viewed DVD section so I could be closer to the Pirates display, like a lion stalking her prey, only bulkier, less coordinated, and with manbrows.
Finally I caved and walked over and stood in front of the display case, possibly drooling. The Video Guy asked me if I wanted to purchase the DVD, and after telling him I was considering it, I walked away. Actually, what happened was, he asked if I was going to buy it, and I said, "Yes – no – I mean – Okay, see, I'm going to go buy some potatoes, and then I'm going to come back and see."
"Okay, Crazy Potato Lady," Video Guy said.
I picked up the potatoes and came back to the desk, asked how much it was, saying to myself, "Self, if it's less than $19, get it. You deserve it. But more than that – one penny more than that, you should wait, wait for Christmas, ask for it as a gift. Saving is important! And it is the holiday season, the season of giving!"
"$23.00," Video Guy said.
"I'll take it," I said.
After geeking out and making sure that the DVD had the widescreen version, I made my way to the cashiers where, halfway through ringing up my order, the cashier held up my box of dishwasher detergent and pointed out it was leaking all over the conveyor belt, and had been leaking for a while. I, always super-observant, had not noticed at all. I had to run back and get another one, which I hate doing, because it's always such a rush and stressful and in the stressy rushfulness, I completely forget the layout of the store and end up wandering down the coffee aisle instead of the cleansers, getting frustrated, and it's just Not Good. I finally returned with the detergent somewhat breathless, altogether flustered, and set about fishing out my credit card and ID (for the beer), all before having one of the weirdest conversations of my recent experience.
"You know, I'm only five years younger than you," the cashier said out of the blue, after entering my date of birth.
"Oh," I said. "That's, well. Uh, do people usually think you're younger?" At this point I realized that the cashier did look about thirteen.
"Yeah," the cashier said. "It gets annoying, you know? I mean, I go down to the jail a lot, and there, they're always, 'Hey, girl, you have to have a parent with you to visit!' and I have to be 'Hey, man, I'm eighteen!' The last guy thought I was nine."
"Oh," I said, "That must be hard. At the jail."
"Yeah, well," she said, gesturing for me to hand over my discount card. "It's harder with guys. Because even if a girl tells them she's eighteen, and they sleep with her, they can still get charged. I mean, even if the girl has a fake ID – even if the girl's mother says she's eighteen, if they guy sleeps with her and she's not, it's still rape. Isn't that stupid?"
"Well, uh–"
"It's like speeding, you know? Even if your speedometer is broken, you've still broken the law."
"I never – "
"I think the girls who hand over fake Ids in those situations should be arrested, not the guys."
"Hm," I said, signing the credit receipt. "Well, you know, good luck with that."
And then I bolted.
And now it's after 12:30, and I meant to go to bed an hour ago, blah blah blah, I say this every night. Off to put on the vaseline and latex! That makes it sound like I'm in for a way more interesting night than I am.
