If there’s one thing I like more than anything in the world it’s being better than other people.
Usually this is easy to achieve because I look great in yoga pants and I part my hair on the right plus I was in the church hand bell choir for two consecutive years during middle school. So…yeah. But sometimes my pain staking dedication to perfection is ruined by that man I often find confused and half naked in my bed. My husband.
The man refuses to take my need to passively belittle other grocery store patrons seriously!
To prove my point, let’s take a look at an average grocery store outing for me or as I refer to it, “Supermarket Sweep Boot Camp.” Because we all go to the grocery store just in case we’re ever faced with that magical moment of deciding whether or not to make the Super Sandwich. That and to feed our families.
Now I’m a cart perfectionist. I’m the type of person that likes my cart to say “I’m an over indulgent douche” when I go to the grocery store and so I achieve this in two very specific ways:
- I load up my cart with as much crap as possible.
- I make sure that 99.9754637% of that crap has the word “organic” written on it.
This does not amuse my fellow patrons. In fact, it turns out that most people don’t like it when you try to prove that you’re better than them which only means you must try harder. Hence the reason why I wear at least five leather purses when I shop and say things like “How am I ever going to fit all of this in my Maserati?” on a three minute loop. All of this works perfectly until the moment my confused, half naked husband texts me to buy the kind of bread that has preservatives in it because we all know how delicious preservatives are (and I’m not sure if he’s still half naked by the time I go to the grocery store, but I am sure he’d like us to picture him that way and I’m not one to refuse his wishes).
So I do it. I sneak the damn bread beneath my masterfully organic stash and stroll down the walk of shame knowing that once I unload all my artfully crafted organic goods onto the conveyer belt, everyone will know that I’m a fraud.
But it’s okay because I love my husband and if he wants white, chemically enhanced, deliciously dextrose bread then by David Ruprecht, I’ll buy it for him.
But if I win the Bonus Sweep, he’ll have to buy his own bread. And hopefully put on some clothes.
Does your husband have a tendency to wear clothes? If so, do you think he could host an intervention for my husband? Oh and what’s your trip to the grocery store like?
