June 4, 2009
If I happen to seem a little extra cranky this week, it's all because of Mister Market. Actually, it's all because of the lack of Mister Market. Yes, that's right, my local grocery store has closed its doors and the replacement won't be opening until the very end of July.
This is freaking torture.
Sure we have one drug store and a convenience store in town, but for the next two months the closest actual grocery store is just over ten miles away--and when you're knocked-up, overly demanding, and hungry like a hippo (as I am), that's just too darn far.
Back in the good old days, when I wanted to eat an entire rotisserie chicken all by myself, I'd hop in the car, drive two miles round trip, bring that sucker back to my office, and that was that. But now, now, it's a twenty mile ordeal--and not just for precooked chicken, that goes for Cool Whip and Mediterranean Olives and Croutons, too.
Let's take yesterday for example, when I was asked to bake eight pans of my famous brownies from scratch. I happily drove the twenty miles, swung by the grocery store, and came home with enough cocoa powder and margarine to give an elephant the runs. I fastened my apron, dusted off my KitchenAid, and as I began to sort my ingredients I almost fainted from the horror of my unwelcome discovery--I was completely out of salt.
Not a mother lovin' speck of it in the entire house.
Usually, I'd calm down, take a pee, and drive to Mister Market, but there was NO MORE MISTER MARKET TO DRIVE TO!!! So I did the next best thing--I drove to my mother-in-law's house, tiptoed in through the side door, stole three sandwich bags (I put the extra two in my purse), and siphoned her salt for my own personal use.
Unfortunately, I was caught.
My mother-in-law was like, "Amy, what're you doing?"
And I was all, "Who? Me? Hi? I need some salt for a recipe."
"Oh," she replied, "just take the whole container."
"No," I insisted! "I couldn't take your provisions at a time like this!" Then I put my right hand on her left shoulder, looked her bang in the eye, and said, "Mister Market has closed, this is no time time be hoarding supplies. I'll only take what I need."
Now everyone here knows full well that I steal groceries from my in-law's pantry on a regular basis--everything from peppercorns to twelve-pound turkeys--but in the past I've only stolen those items for the adrenaline rush, never out of necessity. And let me tell you, necessity is a beyotch.
I mean seriously, which of these scenarios is more humiliating?
MOTHER-IN-LAW: Amy, why is that pork loin in James's backpack?
ME: Because I want it in there.
MOTHER-IN-LAW: Amy, I think a jar of Fluff just fell out of the leg of your pants.
ME: I'm so sorry! We need that Fluff or else we'll starve and die! Please forgive me!
Um yeah, definitely the second one.
Please--you know who you are--spare me the comments that say things like, "Try living FIFTY miles from the grocery store!" or "Do you know how many miles I have to ride my horse to buy a box of generic Tampons? It's even farther for the name brand kind!"
You did that to yourself, ladies. We bought a house that was one mile away from Mister Market on purpose--I know myself.
My grocery store was ripped out from under me, and my joy went right along with it.