Finally did the dreaded food-shopping for the month.
All the necessary staples such as coffee, green tea, toothpaste and mouthwash, toilet tissue and paper towels, Splenda, soups, desserts, emergency canned goods like Chef Boyardee mini-raviolis—eaten after pushing off the grocery shopping for too long—are put away, nestled in the kitchen cabinets where they belong.
Fresh produce and dairy items filled the shopping cart as well, and are placed presently in the refrigerator. Bread, rolls, bagels, seafood, various cuts of meat and hamburger patties now rest in my freezer, most of which are to last until December.
Once the perishables have been eaten, either a forced trip to the market ensues, or my visiting the neighborhood Wawa for hoagies, hot-dinner meals, prepared salads and junk food results, not to mention calling out for Chinese food or pizza.
At the Shop Rite this afternoon, while I meandered along the back aisle, not only once (which was excusable), but twice did a woman hit the back of my foot with her shopping cart. It hurt, incidentally.
“Would you watch where you’re going?” I said. The lady told me she was sorry while brushing her cart against me again.
Meanwhile, her husband behind her, with whom I almost got into fisticuffs, said, “Come on, hurry up. My wife wouldn’t be running into you if you weren’t creating a traffic jam.”
“Listen, buddy,” I said. “This is a food market, not Frankford Avenue. Thank goodness that’s a shopping cart and not a car your wife is driving.”
A manager rushed over as the aforementioned, infuriating nincompoop and I were about to butt heads in a heated argument. “Would you two mind taking this outdoors. You’re blocking the aisle,” he said, defusing a potential wrestling match by the frozen-food section.
My opponent, his wife and I started laughing in unison, as did those who were held up by the scene we were creating. We all shook hands and were given some store coupons by the manager, none of which I used, by the way.
The man’s wife bumped me with her cart once more, this time in my derriere, with a big smile on her face. I let it slide, being the good-natured soul that I am. It’s instances like these which make me hate shopping, doing most of mine on Amazon when I can.
If it weren’t for the extra $20.00 plus tip, charged for their service, I’d buy my groceries online too, and have them delivered to my door; but the cardio exercise and adrenaline rush make going to the market a plus for my metabolism.
Speaking of which, I gained twenty pounds since losing forty-five last year. Stopping at the pharmacy, I bought a two-month supply of green coffee-been extract to help me shed the excess weight. That’s what melted the fat off me previously, so I’m on another crusade.
My ideal BMI (Body Mass Index) is at around 180 pounds for my height, which on the scale measures as “25,” at the threshold of being overweight. Hopefully, I’ll drop below two hundred (BMI=27) this time around, which is considered somewhat overweight. I could live with that.
Right now I’m at 30 BMI (220 lb.), the threshold of being obese for my height, not healthy for the heart, vessels, and blood sugar (leads to diabetes and/or heart attack).
Wish me luck, please. I took a tablet about an hour ago and am buzzing at the moment, typing like there’s no tomorrow; however, the word count has reached 612, well-over my usual quota of 500 for an essay, prompting me to close this tirade.
Thanks for stopping by to read this, and for your continued support.