At The Market

This is how I go to the store.

I pick up a basket because I’m only shopping for one, or at least that’s what I tell myself after I remember my roommates will probably eat a fraction of everything I buy. It's just how our system works.

I usually only have one or two things I need to pick up. This time it’s toilet paper and something else I can’t remember.

I pick up two boxes of cereal because I realize I’m out of that too, but it’s still not the thing I don’t remember.

I look at a bag of pita chips, but after realizing how expensive they are I pick up a bag of regular pita’s instead.

I mean, how difficult is it to make pita chips? What process necessitates a cost of four dollars for a bag of stale pita? Can’t I do that on my own?

I take a long time shopping when I'm by myself.

I sometimes zone out in the produce section.

I pick up an avocado and I think about my job interview, or my parents, or how my parents keep calling me to tell me not to write about things I think are funny or sad or inappropriate.

I walk down the shampoo isle and I stop suddenly. Something stops me.

I keep walking until I pick up a container of hummus. Then I remember that I don’t even like hummus. Then I question my choice in buying pita bread.

I pick up two bottles of spray-on salad dressing. I put the honey mustard one back because I question it’s ability to spray properly.

I pick up a container of cold cucumber feta-cheese, for the pita bread.

I wonder whether or not I can rationalize buying a five dollar container of cheese when I have just questioned whether or not I could afford a box of ramen noodles.

I wonder if I could get used to hummus. Maybe it’s an acquired taste.

I walk back down the shampoo isle and I stop suddenly.
Somewhere, between the Aussi Shampoo and the Sunsilk Conditioner I smell her.

I stand in the shampoo isle for a while.

I just stand in the shampoo isle.

I stand in the shampoo isle and I no longer regret picking up the pita bread, or the spray-on salad dressing, or think about how my basket has become so heavy that I can no longer lift it, or about my parents, or my job interview.

I just stand in the shampoo isle.

And then I leave.

And then I remember what I needed to buy.

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