I feel like I must preface this post with a reason. Otherwise, this comes way out of left field.
This post was prompted when I read one by a blogger in Canada (a single male) who mentions his frustration at meeting women today after the love of his life ended things so abruptly. He's quite quirky and hilarious, and his post today made me think. And comment something, albeit shorter and more rambly, like this.
Whoever said you should, or could, meet singles in the grocery store has never followed me while I'm there. I go so infrequently because I hate it so much. I miserably enter the store, but I always follow the same pattern of behavior while inside.
I hurriedly scour the aisles, in the same order each time. I go quickly from produce (the far right of my store) and circle around through bread, soups and condiments, to the cereal aisle (where I always buy at least 2 boxes of Special K with Red Berries, unless it is on sale and then I really stock up looking like the crazy cereal woman), and then I make my way past the butcher and the seafood guy and curve towards the dairy aisle. There I scoop up about 10 yogurts, grab some cottage cheese, and haul a gallon of milk and a carton of OJ into my basket.
Oh, and I'm usually dragging that little plastic "yes I cook for one" basket over my arm with the handles stretched beyond the norm into bendy-dom and my right arm has huge, red, swollen indentations in it from loading too much into that little guy and I am nearing a state of misery when I finally find my way in the liquor and beer aisle (the far left of my store) and I grab a few must-haves from over there.
Then I skate past the 3-for-$12 bouquets (oh how I wish someone else was buying the fresh cut flowers) and head over to the checkout lane. I'm scanning the gossip headlines while I secretly rue the day I chose the 15 year-old checkout person's line who has to radio over the speaker for a "21" to come ring up my wine, causing the whole checkout line to sigh and harumph while we wait for that person to casually make their way over to my lane to help out the rude youngster, and I can't really blame them. I should have gone with the self-checkout line since I'm only buying about 12 things that will inevitably cost me $75.
Shaking my head at the lack of customer service that is present anywhere in America today (except super-duper Nordstrom lady), I storm out of there because I'm so hungry and my feet hurt and I just can't get home fast enough to open the bottle of wine that made my basket so heavy. The four block walk makes my arms ache, just proving the need to work out more. Which is an activity that I dislike even more than grocery shopping.
Yeah. Not the time to get hit on. Note to my single male readers: the grocery store is a horrible, awful place and I can't imagine that most women would like to be asked out over a stack of Lean Cuisines.
But maybe that was just me.
(And, yes, it feels good to say that last line in the past tense.)
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