For those of you who know the fear and trepidation that ensue upon the mere thought of going to the grocery store, you'll understand how I can find any reason not to go: laundry, deleting emails, storyboarding a short film I will never get around to finishing.
Sometimes I am tempted to turn as I leave to go to the store and address my family, in a pleading, Rodney King sorta way and ask, "Can't we all just share a can of corn?"
But maternal instinct always wins and I go. I stop and get a soda at the QT on the way (even though I am trying to give them up) because I deserve it for ah, uhm . . . going to the store? You know that big place with the bright lights that requires a million tiny decisions that somehow cause my face to tingle and my right hand to draw up. (Think price, recipes, health, quantity, brand, etc.)
Once I arrive, I sit in the parking lot and procrastinate some more before actually going inside: I clean out my purse, organize my glove box, text a few forgotten thank you messages.
I take so long sometimes, Chris wonders what has happened to me. He is just now beginning to understand going to the store means a trip to Crazy and back, and sometimes that takes time.
"No one will tell me where the peanut butter is," I cry into the phone or "Why is the bacon so expensive? Center cut or cheap crap. I can't decide. I can't decide!" Now he is patient enough to talk me down an aisle and has only once had to rescue me from a store.
But last Thursday night, as I pulled up to Albertson's, (I miss my old tiny market across the street.) I heard a song that reminded me of what I had to do when I go to the store or a ton of other things I'll save for other blogs. (I know you can't wait.)
I attempted to Shazam the song but came up with nothing.
Thankfully, I remembered enough lyrics to get a hold of it. My name's not Brittany, but still, it's what I gotta do!