Sunday Groceries

Having a couple hours to kill between reading The Seattle Times and church, I went grocery shopping on Sunday morning. The aisles were quiet and only a few people (most wearing loose, comfy clothes) pushed their week’s purchases ahead of them.

When I queued up for the checkout line, I suddenly wished the line had been longer. The guy in front of me looked like some gorgeous European soccer player, in well-worn khaki pants and T-shirt. He unloaded his purchases on the moving belt — a large tray of fresh chicken breasts; a large cantaloupe; green leafy veggies; more fruit; whole-grain bread (the good kind); and 35 bottles of water. He put the divider between his groceries and where mine would go, and smiled my direction. I smiled back, but started to worry about how my groceries would rank against his …

Scanning mine, I carefully pulled out everything obviously healthy: salad, bananas, tomatoes, potatoes, broccoli, yogurt, milk (nonfat). Then I scanned for Phase Two: What would be tall enough to cover up the sugar cereal (for the exchange student living with me!), Sprite (for the exchange student living with me!), and bath mat? Thank goodness I hadn’t picked up any candy bars or tortilla chips.

So the guy hands over the little customer card (Oh, hey, I think. He regularly shops here). He exchanges small talk with the cashier, and I think I may have to grocery shop every Sunday morning.