I can’t count the number of times I’ve been lured into buying stuff without thought. Especially, in grocery sections.
I most always shop with a list. Too often I don’t look at it until I’ve got my basket half full.
I can ignore the hand-painted sign just inside the door, the frozen food aisle and the dog food department.
But, I like Cornish game hens. They come in 2-per package. I put this last one in the freezer right next to one already there.
Same thing happens with bacon, sweet rolls, sausage, cottage cheese, paper plates, syrup and weiners.
These things I like, or think I need, but can’t always remember if some are already in the fridge.
The most recent disaster was the lure of what is meant to be, but only looks like, fresh picked sweet corn.
Worst, I fell for this packaging two weeks ago. Now, unable to resist and drooling, I went to the corn display again, and this time I bought the plastic wrapped ears and a few ears still in their husks. That way I knew one would be tasteful.
Wrong, wrong, wrong,
Both were tough and both had tastes I was unfamiliar with. I’ve just got to wait until my corn grower near the office puts out his wheelbarrow and plastic jar.
That same trip I spotted an enticing raspberry pie. At home I started cutting a slice. I noticed the crust was especially thick. I resorted to checking the label. It was a tart.
Shayna loved it.
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Our 14-year-old granddaughter and her like-aged friend came over to swim in my what-has-become-a-very-expensive-pool.
As they were sunning, I went into our house, got out a red bandana, unfolded it and decided it had more cloth than either of the swimsuits at the pool.
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Out on the highway I’m realizing more and more that drivers want to be ahead of me. Seems like they also want to be ahead of whoever is in front of them.
I’ve never considered myself a fast driver. Hazel was a fast driver. She was addicted to quick starts and faster, close stops. My brake foot dented the passenger floorboard.
Nowadays I find myself observing the speed limits, and having lost-in-space feelings as cars, pickup trucks, buses, semis and motorcycles careen past.
It started me thinking (Yes, I can do that!) when did I decide I didn’t need to be first at and away from a stoplight, first in line at a ticket office, checkout counter or on the first tee?
Why didn’t I start smelling the roses quicker?
I have gotten over the need to have the first anything, except maybe the Rush Limbaugh necktie collection, and a disc by Ray Stevens.
Of course, the slowing down decision wasn’t made entirely by me alone. Old Man Time, the dirty dog, had much to do with it. He slowed the thinking, leg movements and the urge to get there.
The only really quick reactions I have now are from encountering some bees, reaching for the clicker when any politician starts talking, and when someone tries to convince me the health care bill, automobile company bailouts and war costs are not our grand-childrens? problem.