What store might play a song wherein the lyrics go something as follows: "She is slutty but she thinks it's sexy"? Interesting, yes? This song played a couple of times while I stood by the towering stacks of alcohol, watching Michael continue to be interested in wine. Oak, chocolate, lemon, grapefruit, spice notes, yadda, yadda. Get me, I thought over and over again--as often as the girl in the song seemed to be sleeping with people--the hell out of BevMo.
Again, I was reminded of my shopping characteristics. I slap on my mental armor. I have the target in mind--wine. I plow into said store, tell the clerk to show me to the various aisles. I pick out two red, two white, one champagne. I pay for the bottles. I get the hell out of there.
Not so with my beloved. My beloved likes to know what he's buying. I really just want to be able to pour it. He wants it to taste good and not be too expensive. I'll just buy a too-expensive bottle that I understand and love. Fast. Now.
My back started to ache. I began literally pacing the aisles, looking at all the way we humans doctor up rotted juices of fruits and grains in order to get drunk or to celebrate. To revel. I had no idea that Southern Comfort had fruit juice in it. Very interesting. Someone has also bottled up pre-skewered pickles, onions, and olives. How damn lazy! I passed so many aisle ends packed with kettle chips, I am not sure why I didn't take two bags and go into the corner. Sea salt kettle chips. Yes, that's what I'll serve at my wedding, I began to think. A bowl at every table. Those guests will be SO happy.
Finally, finally, we were done. Two carts full of bottles, and we pushed to the MINI. Duh! What idiots. We barely got the hatch closed.
But it's done. We have the rotted juices of various fruits and grains at our home ready to serve up to the guests. And I'm still thinking about those chips.
Causes Jessica Inclán Supports
Women for Women International Goodwill Industries Lindsey Wildlife Museum Freecycle.org