As I was saying before I rudely interrupted myself, I absolutely hate going to the grocery store. It's partly because I was a cashier through a few of my college years, and I still have nightmares about never-ending conveyor belts of produce that I don't know the codes for and I keep having to call for a price check, and the veggies are followed by SOOO MANY old ladies with coupons for things they didn't buy, and I wake up stressed and sweaty....
Anyhoo, I mostly hate going to the store because it feels a lot like what I assume going into the Upside Down would feel like. (If you don't know what that means, you need to get a laptop, a Netflix subscription, and a free weekend.) I feel a sense of dread as soon as I pass through those automatic doors. I wander around, lost and forlorn. The lights flicker, and I just know that Winona Rider is trying to save me. Demogorgons (aka...jerks with shopping carts) come at me from every angle, and when I finally escape, I just want a comforting meal of frozen waffles, or, in my case, some pepperoni pizza.
Tonight, I managed to escape with everything I need for a great spaghetti dinner, which is pretty much the only thing I cook. And let me tell ya, I cooked up what we in Texas call a "mess" of spaghetti...which is to say I made a ridiculous amount so I can eat leftovers for at least two meals. I've always been amused by "mess" as an quantifier, and while I've never confirmed my suspicion, I'm pretty sure the term "mess" is derived from the amount of clean up a large meal requires afterward. Which reminds me...
Have you ever considered selling your sauce in plastic jars instead of glass? I only ask because I'm a bit of a klutz who tends to cook barefoot.
Please think about it.
Your faithful customer,