old mother hubbard, that's me.

We're eating the last of our frozen meat tonight. Great! I have to go grocery shopping! If we were living at our old place, I'd just run out and do it quickly, but "quick" and "grocery shopping" won't be going together around for a while. Whenever I go to a new store, I have to spend a huge amount of time figuring out the logic of the place. "If I were this Safeway store, where would I hide the rice?" Grocery shopping becomes a four-hour-deduction marathon to make my college Logic professor proud! Or not proud, most likely. Oh, and asking for help can only get you a couple of things. If I whip out my eight-page spreadsheet and start running down the list, even the most seasoned and competent stock boy will turn pale and "remember" a spill that needs his attention in the back. So instead I have to march to and fro down the aisles like I'm an addict of some new aerobics exercise fad - "Take eight steps forward and twelve steps back. Now reach for the bread. Now put it back cause you see the English Muffins at the other end of the aisle. Good work, ladies! Okay, let's all kick-step to the dairy section!"

Frankly, the mere notion of grocery shopping around here makes me tired.

Just to clear things up, though, I don't have a spreadsheet for a grocery list. Nor is my list ever eight pages long. Don't look at me like that. How much of a nerd do you think I am? Um, don't answer that.