Can you believe I can go to the grocery store without a dissociative episode or panic attack? It was not always so, blogarinos, although that was still not enough to keep me away from the grocery store. Sometimes it’s kind of fun when the stuff on the shelf dances. Hell, I’ve paid for that experience before. But anyway, such vapors are a thing of the past. They took away my fainting couch down at the Hannaford. They also stole my debit card number, but that’s another story for another time. I got a new card, and the expiration date is no longer a very lucky 08/08, which was very popular when calling for Chinese takeout, trust me. Oh right. So anyway, to conquer your existentialism, try doing all your errands with a small conscience who yells at you, passersby, and dogs and fire trucks, just in case there are any. Your conscience should also throw things at you, like a grocery list, a pen, a travel magna-doodle, and a bag of organic soup beans. This works wonders for the constitution, if not the complexion. You might also substitute fire juggling if you do not have a conscience. You’ll be far too busy and concerned with your own survival to be crazy, at any rate.
The other day the conscience ran right over to that giant plastic car shopping cart, and I grudgingly soaked it in rubbing alcohol and secured her with a well-gnawed rope. A litter of other children saw her riding in splendor and made comment to their mother as to how they wished for a similar experience. MOMMYIWANNACARCARCARCARMOMMMYYYYYYYY. Their mother glared at me and said “No, we can’t do that today.”
“YAY! DRIVE CAR! FUN! WHEE! BEEP BEEP!” opined the conscience. Her timing is impeccable. The other kids dialed it up to about 12.
I decided to run with it, since other lady glared at me. “Yes, honey, I love you! You are driving! This is so much fun! I love it when you have fun with me at the store! Yay! What does the car say? Who’s the best little girl?”
Then I had to leave without all my groceries so I wouldn’t come out and find my tires slashed. On the way out, I realized if you go in the other entrance, there are no fucking plastic cars stored on that side. Oh. This is what it’s like to have low concerns.