(More Bugs & Cranks goodness:
And a Child Shall Lead Them Off: “And in the leadoff spot? Utility infielder Omar Infante. Ouch.”
Meanwhile, it’s the weekend. And you know what that means…)
One of the sublime joys of weekend life is jaunting off to the grocery store to pick up supplies.
Okay, not really. I hate grocery shopping. Not sure why, exactly. Comes with the penis, I suspect. Anyway.
“I hate grocery shopping. Not sure why, exactly. Comes with the penis, I suspect.”
I’m told by the missus that if we don’t make regular trips to ye olde foode shoppe, then we don’t eat. I’ve tried — repeatedly, mind you — to explain that there are now these places called ‘pizza joints’ which will, with just a simple call on the phone, bring a hot and delicious pizza pie right to our door. Every night, if we want them to.
Evidently, she doesn’t believe me. I’ll allow that it sounds like a wonderful, magical dream. But dammit, I’ve seen these places. And their funny-colored little cars.
But until she finally comes around, we have to get food from the store occasionally. And while I don’t relish making the actual journet, I do like to help out. I’m all about the helping. Which usually means contributing to the list, like I did this weekend.
And like I also did three years or so ago, which I wrote about in Making a List, Wrecking It Twice.
See? I said I like to help.
I never said I knew how. But I’m out there trying. And I think that’s what’s important.
Thank heaven for those pizza joints, or I’m pretty sure I’d starve. Anyway, happy weekend — and bon appetit.Permalink | 2 Comments