The kid was with the baby-sitter (whom I adore as she always says he's a wonderful, well-behaved child when I KNOW he has been one step below Chuckie or Macauly Culkin in the "Good Son") so I had time to actually peruse the shelves, drool over the fresh produce and squeal over the reduced-for-quick-sale baby brie.
Unfortunately, in my happy-stupor, I found that I was also --- talking to myself. A lot.
A LOT lot.
"Oh I forgot HOT DOGS!" I said loudly, scaring a lovely couple who were shopping for skinless chicken breasts in their matching polos and spike crew cuts.
"BUNS!" I screeched in Aisle 8.
"CRACKERS and HONEY!"
I could've been announcing a porn line-up for all these people knew. Or NBC Fall sitcoms.
It wasn't until the 6'6" grizzly man with the long beard, tiny grocery cart (nope - not really - he was just THAT big) looked at me like I was insane and purposely steered down the feminine hygiene aisle just to avoid my path that I knew - I was really gonna have to shut the hell up.
Or milk it.
I mean - really - if I keep up the muttering to myself and keep up with the random word shouting - I'm pretty sure I would never have to worry about being stuck behind the mom with six kids hanging off of the cart, or the old-lady aisle-blocking the canned beets, or the crunchy hippies hovering over the organic squash - they'd run from me. They'd be terrified of me.
Like the cat lady on "The Simpsons."
But with better hair.
That's my new lease in life.
Sure - I tried being "Harry 4's mom" for a bit and while it is WONDERFUL - I just may have to take "Crazy Cat Lady" for a stroll - at least once a week.
Or more if I have good coupons.
Fear me, crunchy hippies, FEAR ME , as I will get the best Butternut. Oh yes. I will.