Day Eighteen- The Wonders of Grocery Shopping Alone

   Since winter arrived today and I'm missing the nice autumn-like weather of the last two weeks I'm going to write a bit of humor today. So yes, I'm grateful for grocery shopping by myself. It is so much easier to accomplish buying groceries when you don't have your own personal helpers to point out everything you  should be buying; like ice cream, cookies, chips; you know, the healthy foods. 
    Shopping alone and in peace, well almost in peace. It's difficult to ignore the piped in music and the harsh glare of fluorescent lighting otherwise it's almost like a spa day or like a mini vacation.
   Almost...if I wasn't going to Wal-Mart. 

Great things can happen on a solo shopping trip.

1. You actually can shop without it becoming another chance for the children to test your patience level. Of course, you still have to deal with shoppers that turn their carts horizontal across the aisle while they're shopping and talking on their cell phones. And you still have to avoid grouchy old ladies that will literally push you out of the way with their carts. What do they do with their cars?
     But you don't have to listen to kids complain about going shopping with you. And when you get up to the check out lane, you don't have a dozen unplanned items that you don't need.

2. You can buy a treat for yourself...and you don't have to share because they don't know about it. The chocolate is finally all yours.

3. You can blare the music in the car while you're driving and its not Backyardigans or the sound track to Shrek. You can play... grown up music.

4. When the hunk in the convertible glances your way, you know its because you're one hot mama and not because the kids are making weird faces that involve straws and nostrils.




5. You can purchase underwear and other unmentionables without your child broadcasting to the entire store personal information about the size and color of your underwear.

   There's plenty of reasons to shop solo. But if I didn't have a budget, I wouldn't go at all. I would hire one of those grocery services that deliver to your door and I would sneak off to the spa instead. Now that's a mini vacation.

A Summer 'Bloomed'

According to my three year old niece, CT, this is her artwork of a flower bloomed. Not blooming.
       Bloomed.
       And that's how I feel about summer. It's no longer blooming, it has bloomed. And like a flower whose petals slowly fall off, seeds start to form and eventually the plant withers, summer has already given us its brightest day; now we watch it wind down to the chilly days of autumn.
       I'm not ready. The children are definitely not ready for cold weather and longs weekends trapped in the house. They weren't ready for the first day of school this week. Even some of my plants aren't prepared for the coming arrival of fall. They are still pretending that these last few weeks of warm weather will last forever.
      If only. I know I should try to appreciate winter more for it's frosty reminder of how grateful I should be that summer days are lit brightly and warm and wonderful. But Mr. Frost can kiss Summer's sun warmed...
      Winter is not my favorite season. Perhaps if snow was 'smarter' and would only accumulate on the yard and not on my car. Or if it wouldn't drop to twenty below so the children could actually play in the snow, then I wouldn't be bemoaning- the too soon end -of sunny days. As it is, I am saddened by the 'bloomed' summer and wish it would blossom longer around these parts.

    On another note, why do husbands have to be so frustrating? (Yes, men say that about their wives too and I know, as women we try to say they have nothing to complain about but I will admit, just so hero hottie doesn't think I'm picking on him, that yes sometimes wives can be frustrating too. (Grin)
     But back when I started my blog I asked if I could refer to him by name or would he rather I came up with a nick name for him.
     "I don't want you using my name. Come up with something. I don't care what." He said.
     I thought long and hard and decided on hero hottie because even after over twelve years of marriage I still think he's hot and since most of the stories I write are romantically inclined, I naturally chose something that sounded like a corny romance novel.
     He was okay with this. Not thrilled, even though I called him hot but gave me the go ahead.
     And then I collected readers. In town. That knew him and used his new nickname.
     "Why did you call me..." he bemoaned.
     "Hero hottie?" I supplied when the poor man couldn't even say it aloud.
     "Yes."
     I gave him a mock glare, trying to hide the laughter and not being successful at all. Poor guy, not only did someone call him hero hottie but his wife wouldn't stop laughing over it. "You said I could call you that."
I reminded him.
     "Yes, but I didn't think anyone would actually read your blog."
     Ahhh. I should have been upset. And a little part of me was and as my friend said, 'You could change his name from hero hottie to hero nottie.'
     And on some days I have certainty contemplated it but I think for now I'll just leave it as hero hottie and kindly let him continue enjoying his small claim to celebrity hood. I'm sure he'll get used to it. :)
     

Coffee Shop Hazards that Your Momma Never Warned You About...

      I should invest in a coffee pot, not only would it save me time and money, (how much do they mark up that coffee anyway?) I could save myself quite a bit of embarrassment.
      You have to understand, I'm a writer, the words you read I've had a chance to edit, finding just the right word to convey my intentions. Talking doesn't work so well for me. It's not that I'm not a chatter box, ask anyone that knows me, there's a problem if I'm not filling the silence but I don't always have a chance to edit the words before they're flying around, causing me embarrassment.
      Like at the coffee shop this month. And these times the 'oh-no' feeling was even worse than the time I wrote Corner Panty instead of Corner Pantry on my check while paying for gas. The clerk thought it was so hilarious, she was sharing the story with all her other customers, including hero hottie, who had to tell me, with a huge grin, how every one was getting a chuckle over my misspelling.
      The first coffee shop incident happened a couple of weeks ago. I ordered my regular size for really tired days, a 16 ounce coffee. Except my mind must have been on snooze still because I ordered a 16 inch coffee. Now, I didn't think anything of it, until hero hottie started chuckling beside me and muttering something about 16 inches. I love the guy, but he's a guy and sixteen inches apparently is a dirty joke. I'm sure I don't have to explain in further detail the jokes that were tossed back and forth at my expense between hero hottie and the guy taking the order. My cheeks were blazing and I could have kicked hero hottie in the shin for laughing in the first place.
       And the second incident probably never would have happened had hero hottie not teased me about my 16 inch coffee order but he did and yesterday when we went in the coffee shop to order a very innocent cup of coffee, I was faced with the guy from last time and my mind started recalling the last time I ordered from him and all the times hero hottie had teased me about it. And instead of asking for a 16 ounce coffee, I was so busy hoping the guy didn't remember the last time I had ordered coffee, I asked for...
      "Sixteen inch-ounce coffee." I asked, cringing as I realized that he had indeed heard the inches and completely remembered me from last time. The guy chuckled and proceeded with another bunch of dirty jokes.
      I would have teleported if that was real or if I had been really bold I would have commented on their wishful thinking and the impracticability of such a thing as 16 inch 'coffee'. Instead, I took my coffee and decided I might have to find another place to embarrass myself at. Like at home. Or on my blog.
     And contrary to what hero hottie says, even though a great deal of what I write is 'icky-icky' as my children call it, my mind is not in the gutter. His is. Because I'm not the one who took a word of measurement and turned it into a joke about guy's you know what.
      In the meantime, I think it might be a while before I stop thinking about anatomy while drinking coffee.