another day in paradise
September 16, 2007
You know that store, the quirky store you go to when you are having a social gathering? The one where you can get all those fun cheesey, triple layered dippy, appetizer thingys, chocolate covered soy beans and meatless meatballs, for a fraction of the price you would pay anywhere else? The store that has all the micro-brewery beers with the adorable, edgy labels, and the wine, oh the wine…where else can you get such drinkable wine for 2 dollars? I ask you? Don’t you just love it? And don’t even get me started on the cheese! There are lots and lots of reasons to shop here. For decades I’ve haunted this place, Fearless Flyer in hand. I’d stroll leisurely down the aisles, delighting in the whimsical labels, plucking from the aisles one gastronomical adventure after another.
However, lately, it has become more of a chore to shop here. I don’t seem to have the tolerance I once had for the aisle blockers and the oblivious label reading loiterers. It feels to me like running the gauntlet. Not that I ever have, run the gauntlet, that is.
I wade through the shopping carts, four deep, wait patiently for the label readers to finish perusing and the young couple to decide on whether to buy the parmigiana reggiano or romano pecorino for their spaghetti dinner tonight. I still have to give that one extra push past the elderly woman balancing her check book right in front of the deli case. At this point, I mistakenly think I have earned the right to actually look for the Gruyère I came here for. But no! The second I make it to the spot I valiantly fought my way to, I feel someone snort impatiently down my neck. As I turn to find the owner of the snort I am met with his glowering face. I apologetically grope for something that looks remotely like swiss, grab it, turn to find I am boxed in by at least six more carts. Through a crevice between the throng of cheese lovers, I spot my husband. Our eyes meet. He gives me a knowing look. I yell “go long!” He understands and readies himself. I throw the cheese, my arm hindered by the close quarters I am forced into. I think I see his hands connect with the cheese. The crowd closes in. I lose sight of him. I murmur under my breath, “god speed, my love, god speed.”