I think we need to mix it up a bit here at SPGL. After all, how many times do you want to read the words “cookie butter” and “wine” on my blog? Today, I have a guest blog from pal and fellow writer Thelma Michael. She obviously understands the intricacies of single-hood shopping and shares her astute observations below.
I am purposefully single. That’s right boys and girls – it is a choice. No, I’m not Hunchback of Notre Dame’s twin sister making this statement because I haven’t been asked out on a date in the last decade – I’m single because I refuse to be with an idiot.
There are a lot of idiots out there. Which makes me wonder when we can pass an ordinance that there must be a stupidity test before one can procreate – but that is a whole different line of thought.
I am also a big people-watcher and the grocery store is chock full of entertainment for me. Not just the people, but their carts! Holy mother of god can you learn a lot from someone by their shopping cart.
But those observations can also bite me in the butt. To come clean I have no butt because too many things have come back and bit me in the butt. I really hope karma doesn’t start coming after the boobs next because I don’t have that much and if it takes those I will be left with the body of a pre-pubescent 12-year-old boy. But that’s another story.
So I am a cart observer – I like to look in other people’s grocery carts. I can pick out the single dad, the husband who was sent with a specific list and fellow single people. Like the angry gal who just broke up with her boyfriend. She’s easy to spot – two dozen cartons of Ben and Jerry’s, five bottles of wine and the super saver pack of Kleenex are dead give aways. Then there’s the frat boy living in a grown man’s body single-handedly keeping Frito-Lay in business, as well as the local brewery.
I recently went to the grocery store to pick up a few things, enjoyed my people/cart watching then ran a couple more errands before I went home. It was after one of these errands that I stunned my fellow patrons in the parking lot by literally laughing out loud once I reached my car.
I glanced in the backseat and all I saw was a fifty pound bag of dog food, a case of beer and two cases of soda pop! If it had been someone else I would have designated them the lonely dog person. I swear I could hear my grandmother in my ear, “See what happens when you make assumptions about others…” Yeah, yeah, yeah.
I am a dog person. After years of singleness on and off, I much prefer the company of my dogs. Don’t get me wrong, I love men – they are such simple creatures. But my tolerance for them and their crap is pretty low whereas my dogs at least crap in my yard, not in my psyche.
Dogs don’t have to figure out who they are – they are a dog. They don’t have a pendulum that swings from wanting to be in a monogamous relationship to wanting to hump everything in the neighborhood. They don’t play hot and cold, they don’t care if you get fat or put green goop on your face to get rid of age spots.
And you normally only have to train a dog once, as with a man it is a continual process. So yes, I am the crazy dog lady with the big bag of dog food so I make sure my dogs are always taken care of. And me? I get the soda pop to get me through the day and the beer for a toast to me at the end of the day.
Don’t judge me.
Thanks, Thelma. As soon as she stows that bag of dog food away, she’ll have time to launch her new blog and we’ll do linkies. It’s what cool, single chicks do.