The other day I walked into Smiths grocery store with the usual high-minded intent of slipping in, getting some fruits, vegetables, whole wheat bread, low fat milk, and maybe some lean white meats and then slipping out before my lustful eyes had the opportunity to ogle the unmentionables. I would mention them here but like I said, they're unmentionable.
Unfortunately, as soon as I walked in the front door my senses were assaulted by a giant mountain of sugary cereals. Not a stack, a mountain. The kind Attila would need elephants to conquer. Immediately I went into cold sweats, my legs locked uncontrollably though my heart screamed, “keep walking”, and had it not been for the cart I was leaning on I would have fallen forward and broken my nose. I attempted to prove my stalwart resolve to move on by setting my jaw, and whispering through clenched teeth, “get thee behind me Satan” to which the mountain replied, “no”, a simple but brilliant retort. I quickly concluded I was no match for this mountain in a battle of wits so I decided to just turn my back on it like Lot on Sodom and Gomorrah.
But I am a pillar of salt. I looked back. And when I did my eye caught a newspaper ad that read, “8 for 8 dollars.” Now, had these boxes been regular price there may have been some hope. Reason would have kicked in and screamed “No! You’ll bankrupt your family and ruin your marriage!” But temptation was only intensified exponentially by the incredible bargain. I felt like a chubby ten-year-old, just released from fat camp on Halloween night with an empty sack, a Superman cape, and the perfunctory charge to “stick with it buddy.”
There was nothing I could do. My will was undone. I bought 16 boxes.
When I got home some time later I knew I would have to face my wife. I decided to be forthright and own up to my mistakes. Much to her credit, when she saw me walk in with an armful of boxed diabetes and a heart full of shame she was not critical or even angry. She forgave me and loved me in spite of myself.
I unpacked my grocery bags, put all the cereal on the table and that was when I realized I accidentally got home with two extra boxes. Thinking back now I can’t help but wonder, was it really an accident? It’s like Smiths was telling me “listen, I like you. The first one's free” which we all know are the last words heard by a soon-to-be addict.
Luckily I have Maggie to help shoulder the burden.
You know what they say, misery likes company.
6 comments:
Hey Quinn, doin’ the BFL thing here too (see tonkaboy.blogspot) – and I feel your pain. Lucky Charms are like Nyquil. It’s step 13 in any 12-step program. Looks like Maggie put up a struggle before she gave in!
That is the funniest thing I ever heard. I laughed out loud for at least a minute.
So - tell me this...are all 16 (or was it 18) boxes still sitting on your kitchen table; or do you have enough room in your kitchen to hide that much cereal?
Sugar cereal is like crack. You don't buy it for sometime in the future. You buy it when you want it, eat it all, and fall asleep in the tub.
At least there were Cheerios in there to balance out the sugar overload.
do you think a single box of cheerios has even been cracked open??? i don't think so.
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