THE BLOG
09/23/2014 01:29 pm ET Updated Nov 23, 2014

Food Shopping

There is no single deed that I despise more than food shopping.  I hate everything about it.  A visit to the supermarket should be considered a form of punishment and I'm sure those of you who shop there completely agree.  Here's how a typical trip to the food store goes....

I pull into the parking lot, which is packed... Should I just turn around and leave?  No.  My kids have been living on cereal for the past day and I'm even getting low on that.  Let's just get this over with.  After putting James in the cart and screaming at Joey seventeen times while he darts off in the parking lot, nearly getting hit by a car, we finally make it through the doors.  Mob scene.  We head down the dairy aisle and get as far as the yogurts, before I'm already annoyed.  A giant woman is standing in front, blocking everything, while she takes her sweet-ass time deciding whether or not she wants to go with Dannon or Yoplait. I guess we don't really need yogurt anyway. 

Moving forward.  As I go to grab a gallon of milk, Joey cuts in front of me.

"I'll help!" he says, as he grabs a carton and before I even have a chance to stop him, he fumbles.  Milk explosion.  Fuck my life. Thankfully a young kid stocking shelves nearby comes to my rescue with a mop and wood shavings.  I offer to pay for the milk and walk away, feeling the glares from disgusted shoppers.  Complete and utter humiliation.

Onto the deli.  I pull my ticket... number 106, look up at the sign above which reads "Now Serving 62." Screw that... pre-packaged cold cuts it is.  I weave in and out of aisles, tossing whatever I think we need in the cart, trying to get this shit over with as quickly as possible.

"Joey, don't touch that!"... "No, you can't have that!"... "Joseph, put that back where you found it!"... "Fine!  If you promise to stay right beside me and not touch a single thing for the rest of the time, you can have the stupid, frigging thing!"

Oh no... here they come.  The smell of Jean Nate and mothballs quickly engulfs the air around me, as a swarm of little, old ladies surround my carriage to gawk at the baby.

"What a beautiful baby!  What's her name?"

"It's James, actually."

"Jane?"

"Sure..."

"Well, she is just precious!" They all repeatedly mention as they touch his hands... pinch his cheeks... rub his head.  The poor kid is traumatized. 

Finally we make an escape... just a few more aisles to go and then we're outta here!  Oh great, a road block.  Sure, it's not inconsiderate to park your fucking carriage sideways or anything.  I figure the ass wipe who has managed to obstruct the entire aisle will notice that I'm trying to get by, but he appears to be completely oblivious.  I clear my throat: "Ahem"... he glances over, smiles and nods, yet still doesn't move his shit out of the way.

"Excuse me" I say, as I move his carriage out of the way, give him the bitchiest look ever and continue down the aisle.  All that's left to do is hit up produce and I'm on my way.  Wait... what's that smell?  Great, James pooped.  Do I backtrack and go to the heinous grocery store bathrooms to change this smelly child, or just hold off until we get home?  Yeah... hold tight, little guy.  I quickly toss some apples in a bag and head to the checkout. 

Once again, James is being hovered over by people standing behind me in line.  Oh God, I hope they don't get too close and realize that my poor baby is sitting in his own mess.  Son of a bitch.... I forgot to get tomato sauce and cream cheese.  Oh well, no going back now.  We'll just have to eat plain pasta and butter our bagels.

Finally, I pay the clerk, load up the car and make a beeline out of the parking lot. One last stop before I go home and put all of this shit away - the liquor store.