The Professor called me to check up on whether I’d made it to the grocery store and then safely back. I did and I have.
I got everything I wanted except vegetable oil with which to make the brownie mix I bought. I bought basil and garlic and olive oil and parmesan cheese and a lemon to go with the pine nuts my parents brought down last week and I’m going to make a big batch of pesto and it will be yummy. The only thing that sucks is that I’ll have to make it in the blender because I don’t have a food processor.
I also bought beer so that I could sit out on my back porch and drink it, but I’m not in a beer drinking mood. And I haven’t made it out on the back porch because I broke down and did the dishes. With the new dishwashing detergent I bought.
When we were little, our parents used to haul us to Cub Food once a month… I don’t know if y’all know what this is or if they even still have them, but in the midwest, we like industrial sized grocery stores and Cub Foods was like the Home Depot of them–huge, with big, tall shelves and endless rows and my parents would each get a cart and sometimes one of us would have to push another one and we’d walk back and forth and up and down and back and forth and up and down.
It was awful. Usually, my parents were fighting* and the boys were all “can we get this can we get that can we can we can we, huh dad?” and I would lean over the bar of the cart and watch my feet stepping on in front of the other framed by the wire and the wheels and fantasize about Keifer Sutherland and the rest of the Lost Boys swooping into the Cub Foods and killing everyone except for me, who they would take back to their bad ass cave with the awesome Jim Morrison poster and they’d let that idiot Michael run off with that boring Star and I would take her place as the queen of the teenage vampires.
Inevitably, I’d run into one of the boys with the cart because I wasn’t watching where I was going, busy as I was watching my feet and daydreaming about the downfall of the Coreys.
*Now that I think about it, I think my parents did all their fighting in public.
First, I’ll bring the oil if you bake the brownies.Second, I always hated the smell of Cub Foods. Third, I too liked to watch my feet through the cart. However, my mom rarely even let us come to the store and then even less rarely let us drive the cart – in large part because of all the crashing into other people. I’m actually a little jealous of your excusions, even given point 2. above. Fourth, the redesign at Kroger freaks me out. I can’t find anything and having only one, small doorways jsut pisses me off. I don’t go there anymore.
You’re welcome to come over and eat the pesto I just made. I think it is fabulous, but a little lemony. I’m letting it sit in the fridge for a while to let the flavors blend while I school Nathan Moore about the importance of poetry, even for folks whose souls are apparently shriveled piles of ashes incapable of recognizing transcendant beauty.
I figure you mean the Belle Meade Kroger. Compare and contrast that remodel with the Charlotte Pike Kroger.Those stores are three miles from one another and couldn’t be more different in terms of clientele, selection and layout.In the interest of full disclosure, I worked on the Charlotte Kroger remodel.
I haven’t been into the Charlotte Kroger in a long time, but it seems far more spacious and better lit than the Belle Meade Kroger, which, yes, is the Kroger I go to. I’m under the perhaps mistaken assumption that it’s closer to my house. But the more I think about it, the more I think that it may be pretty much the same distance as the Charlotte Kroger.