No matter how you get yourself into that parking lot, the minute you walk in those doors, and grab a shopping cart or basket, or little kid wagon-shaped-like-a-taxi thing, you become just like everyone else.
It doesn't matter if you're on food stamps or you make a million dollars a day (although in the case of the latter, you may just be able to pay someone to go for you, or have it delivered... but I digress) you still have to truck up and down those aisles, looking for the cereal, or broccoli, or canned soup or frozen pizza or whatever it is that you needed to satiate your hunger for the next... however long.
Another thing about grocery stores, is that they tell you a lot about people. I'm going to admit right now, that I'm a complete grocery snoop. I'm the girl that's looking into all of your grocery carts out of the corner of my eye as you pass me in the aisle. I'll never snicker or sneer or give you the stink-eye if I see something I don't like, but I'm sorry -- if you're... quite heavy... and your cart is full of ho-hos and cartons of ice cream, I'm groaning. But on the inside. It goes something like this: "Oh, HONEY. No... no no no. Put those away. See? Look at that lady over there. She's picking up a nice green salad. Look how nice and healthy she is. Don't you want to be healthy? Now go put those away like a good girl and follow suit."
Nobody ever listens to my internal monologues.
My point is, no matter how my day has gone, when it comes time to write up my shopping list, and pop by the good ol' marketplace, I always get smiley inside. Because I know it as a pleasant ritual... that always results in better dinner than the night before when I was totally out of everything.
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