I'm going to the grocery store tonight. I don't think I've ever been this excited about going grocery shopping. This will be the first time I've braved the aisles since Ike threw his little tantrum and ruined everyone's month.
I just haven't had the energy to fight for a loaf of bread or a carton of half & half. This isn't communist Russia. I shouldn't have to stand in line for hours, waiting for my turn to go inside the building and collect half a dozen pale vegetables into my cart under the sickly glow of generator-fed fluorescent lighting.
This is big, brawny, beautiful America! I expect my grocery store shelves to be lined with bags, boxes and bottles -- a mind-boggling array of dressings, cereals, sauces and soups! I want to fondle shiny, virile produce! I want gory rows of glistening meat! I want to flirt with sassy, plump olives, ogle decadent desserts and ravage crusty loaves of fresh-baked bread.
But mostly I just want this one little part of my life -- the comforting ritual of perusing the shelves, daydreaming about my future as a Food Network star, imagining concoctions that I'll never actually make -- to be part of my life again.