Then it dawned on me that this is how I'm spending my Friday night. Sitting comparing word fonts and looking at Youtube videos of Seattle Police beating women. (It's ok she's urban, so it doesn't count. Throw bows at a granola eating, Land Rover driving WASP and we might have an issue here.)
What better way to spice things up than new I'm writer so a books theme makes me look classy. If only I could focus long enough to write one.
I then find myself reading a magazine left on the coffee table before I remember that I was looking for my keys, so I could go to the store, and buy food, so I can write my blog.
I totally forgot to go to Trader Joe's earlier since I also forgot I only have old tofu and leftover cookies to eat. I need sustenance before anything Nobel Prize winning sputters out.
Yum, mac and cheese cravings.
I'm still a bit glammed up in heels and some glitter from a friend's birthday dinner earlier, which makes me feel a bit out of place at the grocery store next to a soccer dad in a velour jumpsuit and all the underage kids buying booze.
I grab sale Velveeta and shells and two cans of tuna. Not the weirdest thing one can buy at the store, insert offensive pregnancy joke, and at least it was albacore.
I click my way to the least overcrowded line and stand next to this obscenely in shape couple. I set my purchases on the conveyor and Mr. Arms starts looking at my goods from the corner of his eye. Both of the conveyor and glittery sort.
"You're so funny," Miss America says with a laugh.
Ok, awkward. Not only did she catch muscles staring but she's probably like, sure, check out the girl who eats fake cheese from a box and has to go home to feed her cats.
Which I totally don't have cats anymore and the box said the cheese is made with 2% milk. Not sure if that makes it any better, but suck it.
They are buying an energy drink and cigarettes with a side of gum. Probably will vomit it up later anyway.
At least it's not as bad as the guy who comments that you're buying a bottle of Pepto like it's a special club between the two of you. Pointing out the pink bottle for the world to see. Yeah, I know what that for. Trust me, we've all been there.
In this scenario, I'm all worried that I won't make it home in time stuck in my own personal hell and totally giving a stranger death stares for daring to point out any indigestion issues one may be having in my household.
Right on intrusive stranger, my roommate sure is having a rough night. Whew, wouldn't want to be her. *Cough*
It should be illegal to comment on grocery items, period.
So I'm pretending to be uber-interested in the Women's Day magazine cover and not listen to any snickers or feel laser eyes on me.
"Oh, you're going to buy my energy drink? Wow," Mr. Arms throws his head my way. "I got the best roommate."
I don't care if you call her grandma, bud. This isn't Trader Joe's, aka the real life Match.com.
I only want to get home so eat my delicious noodles and wallow in my own shame.
Which were delicious, a thank you.
