Aisle Be Yours

RATS!  I am a day late, a dollar short and missing an essential ingredient for my “gourmet” dinner I am concocting for tonight.  Panic sets in… do I: A) try to substitute something from my vast array of herbs, spices and chocolate, nothing of which remotely resembles what is needed and would most likely render all the work and effort put into this mouth watering, body tingling, experience of a epicurean banquet I am preparing useless and reservations would quickly have to be booked in order to save humiliation and wreckage of reputation?  Or, B) do I brave going to the market to get the item, dressed as is, chance getting a front parking space and pray I don’t run into anyone I know.  Since there are only 4 short hours to show time and the guests’ arrival, I go with plan “B”.

In the “it seemed like a good idea at the time” category, I yell to my ever-faithful love muffin to watch the stove (“What is it going to do?”  “Write down the directions, I may forget.”)  Alas, I love the man dearly but he holds just a faux passing fancy for anything that is not edible in the gastronome department.  With the clock ticking, I didn’t have a choice except to entrust him with a wooden spoon and instructions to stir occasionally.

Thank goodness I didn’t check my appearance before scooting off – I may have scared myself.  I was in my usual “at-home attire”.  Clean, but not exactly a fashion statement, I thought it would “do” to run to the store.  One quickly remembers the beauty of a small town when trying to speedily sneak into the grocery for something… it just doesn’t happen.

I was safely down the first aisle until I rounded the corner towards the refrigerated section.  I spot a mom of one of my son’s classmates… do I duck and beeline it around the bend to the cracker aisle?  Should I backtrack and turn right at the end of the bread rack?  Heck no!  I approach head on.  Considering it has been days since I saw her, we must catch up – you never know what pertinent information can be exchanged.  She did give me the once over and probably was mentally noting that I was a major “Glamour don’t”.  Six and a half minutes later, I am heading up the canned food aisle.  A summer acquaintance in the seasonal goods aisle, some friends of my son’s, who happen to be girls, in the cosmetics aisle, a dad with a child looking perplexed in the dog food aisle, another mom in the health foods aisle, a couple more local folks in produce have it feeling like old home week and a mandatory swing through the frozen foods aisle to see if Ben & Jerry were missing me – there are people everywhere… what happened to eating out (this trend of enjoying home cooked meals may be overrated)?  Not to be rude, I am happy to chat with each and all.  What began as a quick “in and out” has now stretched to 30 minutes (I wonder if my snookums arm is still whisking away at home) and I am hoping to recall what I initially came in for.

Back home in 45 minutes, not bad.  I have: my item (actually items, because who has ever heard of running into the grocery for just one thing… and you always need ice cream, no matter what else you are buying); the finely blended concoction on the stove (I think my husband has potential to be a wonderful sous chef – I must enlist his services again), enough detailed data and informational statistics (some would call it gossip) until my next foray to the market… and 12 minutes until the guests arrive and no need for reservations!  All’s well that ends well!

Cynthia A. McClelland, curious observer of the obvious with interpretations of the oddities of daily life. Mother, wife and lover of the furry, resides in the north Lake Tahoe area.

Cynthia A. McClelland © 2003-