I've been to the grocery store four times this week. Each time I announced loudly to the family that I would not be going back again until after payday. This resolution has not worked because boredom with the usual cast of meals has set in. This boredom results in me reading cookbooks and then another trip to the grocery store for perishable goods such as limes or coriander.
This being Thanksgiving weekend in Canada, we will, of course be celebrating by making Pad Thai and fresh rolls. (Doesn't everyone?)
My most recent trip to the local Great Atlantic and Pacific Company ended with a good conversation with the checkout boy. I don;t call him this in a perjurative way, he was working the checkout and to me, as I rapidly approach my 51st year, he was a boy.
He scanned my purchases and then announced in a solemn voice that he had "placed the eggs in this bag" . This announcement is meant, I assume, to result in me delicately picking up the bag containing said eggs and placing it carefully on top of all my other purchases so that these eggs will survive the treacherous journey to the car and then in to the family palace.
My response to his announcement was not new, I've said it to more than one cashier. "In my family the eggs have to struggle through just like everyone else, no special treatment".
I have to be frank here, I have been buying groceries for more years than I care to remember and I have never, ever, arrived home at the family palace with a broken egg.
I have, however, on many occasions, arrived home with a leaking bag of milk. I once arrived home with a leaking bleach bottle (now that really annoyed me).
It is a case of misplaced respect really. We give the eggs all of the respect and we completely ignore the milk. I am sure there is some deep psychological message here but damned if I know what it is. If you figure it out, please tell me.
