I really never considered myself a snob. Well, much.
Hard reality: yesterday I had coffee with a really nice, highly intelligent man (we met on Brainiacdating.com – seriously). I was enjoying the conversation, even though I suspected that there is no possibility of more than coffee. He has an adult son with autism, and is pretty upfront about being committed to taking care of him.
All was well. Until he mentioned the new Pergo throughout the double-wide.
The grocery store – I’m taking myself on a field trip to a grocery store later today. I realize that to you, the general, food-eating public, this is not momentous. People go to grocery stores all the time. Even single people. Even newly-divorced, “I don’t know how to cook for one after cooking for four” people.
I have gone grocery shopping since Mr. Ex moved out. But it’s been more of the “run in, buy yogurt, run out” shopping, unless I was entertaining (which, frankly, I didn’t do much in the last year). What have I been eating? For the most part, particularly since youngest moved out, it’s been quickie meals; roast chicken; take out; eat at oldest’s; happy hour (okay, quite a few of THOSE). Eggs. Bagels. You get my drift, I’m sure.
I realized this week that taking care of myself must include indulging in something that I’ve always enjoyed, which is cooking and baking. The whole onion roll adventure was part of that, and last week’s beef bourguignon and chicken enchilada soup day was another. So, today, I’m taking myself to a NEW grocery store (well, new to me), Perusing without a list. Gasp – buying on impulse. Because I want it.
The problem, of course, is that if I cook it’s too much for one. Perhaps having ComEd come out last week to take away my old full-size freezer was not the best timing. But I may have a solution to that. I found out yesterday that our school secretary and his live-in girlfriend are a little low on cash (how shocking – a colleague of mine not making enough money to live . . . she says with a touch of irony). He already works a second job, but I guess things are still tight. I’m guessing that they may be willing to help me out with the leftovers . . .