This happens to me a lot.
I am having a tough time thinking of a way to start this post, so my niece Sarah has helped me out with a few sentences. Now I am rearing to go.
So let’s talk about shopping. This is a very scary topic for me. Shopping of any sorts conjures chills up my spine that might even surpass those produced by a dentist drill. About the only shopping I can pseudo tolerate is food shopping, but even that has its horrors. Not to mention temptations if you happen to do it while hungry.
Yesterday, since the cupboards were wheezing and coughing up dust, I went with my sister to the local supermarket to get a few useful (and ingestible) items. As you might guess, supermarkets are definitely not my area of expertise, and Lisa is one of those lucky anti-stereotypes who has a husband who actually does such thinks as shopping for her … so she also kind of needed a map in the store. Fortunately, our list was small, and most of it was in the same area, so things started off well. We got most of what we needed, and then the last two things on the list came up: tuna fish and peanut butter. Personally I would think both these items would warrant personalized mentioned in the various signs posted about for ease of navigation, but not so in this store. So we hazarded a guess as to likely places to find them. The first couple of tries did not pan out, but we were not discouraged, sure that such staples would show up SOMEWHERE.
Finally we found an aisle that seemed appropriate for both, and wandered down it. Halfway down the aisle a musical note chimed and angelic voices were heard as a ray of light illuminated the tuna fish. With a fresh outlook on life, we both knew that the peanut butter would soon be jumping gladly into our cart.
By the end of the aisle, we were severely disappointed.
We had checked several likely places before, yet none had panned out. So we figured we just missed it, and went back to start all over, taking one aisle at a time. By the peanuts? Nope. With the condiments? Nope. In the spaghetti aisle (after all they make up three-quarters of a college students meal plan)? No again. Aisle after aisle were marked by a distinct lack of peanut butter. The idea of asking someone briefly came up, but our determination and desire for exercise won out, and we continued the search on our own.
Finally our efforts panned out. Miles later, with a few stops for snack in between (might as well take advantage of the surroundings), that musical note once again noted, the angelic voices once again voiced angelically, and the ethereal light lighted ethereally. There before us stood a brave couple of peanut butter jars, preparing to leap into our cart.
Right across from the tuna fish.