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Saturday Groceries

I hate Saturday shopping.

I have somehow gotten myself on a schedule of Saturday grocery shopping, so tomorrow, I'll pick up a pie crust or two, and cook up the rest of the rhubarb puree in a pie.

I'm just gonna get enough stuff to get me through until Wednesday or so, because I hate grocery shopping on screaming child day.

They meet you at the door you know, and if you don't have one ... well, it's like this:

(Cue ominous organ chord, fade out, and fade up to brightly-lit store. Sounds of shoppers chattering in background, punctuated by cash register drawers slamming shut. Intercom plays loud, obnoxious orchestral instrumental version of "Eleanor Rigby".)

Greeter (a young college-aged girl, with black nail polish and lipstick, wearing a green smock over a black tee shirt, mini skirt and leggings. Back ankle mid-heeled ankle boots and a pierced ring in her right eyebrow, a shiny jet-black spiked Mohawk hairdo completes the look): "What, no child? - Here, take this one and carry it in your cart while you shop. If it stops screaming, we'll be happy to replace it."

(Speaker overhead, booming loudly with so much bass as to be just barely intelligible.)


(Speaker goes back to inane music - flutes and violins playing "Marakesh Express".)

Greeter, cheerily: "Thank you for shopping at Gluttons Food-A-Rama, and have a nice day."

I hate shopping on Saturdays.

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