As I was going throught the checkout line at the grocery store yesterday, I realized that a neutral observer might be mistaken in assuming that I’m shopping for an 8-year old.
I sheepishly realized that my basket was loaded with cookies, mac ‘n’ cheese, Golden Crisp, frozen pizza – a veritable cornucopia of childish culinary delights. I squirmed with discomfort as the others in line looked down their noses at my pathetic basket of artificially sweetened foodstuffs. It was one of those times where being a 6’5″ giant filled me with sadness and shame – there was nowhere to hide or hang my head. Instead, I pretended to be engrossed with Us Weekly and their fine coverage of Britney’s pregnancy and the socio-economic ramifications therein.
At this point, I can choose to react one of two ways. I can realize that being ashamed of my own groceries might signal that a change of nutritional priorities is in line. Perhaps I will take this message to heart and shop next time at a natural foods store, stocking up on my supply of organic fruits, unsweetened juice, and wheat. Instead of gallantly strolling the cereal aisle, I would meekly peruse the barley and oat husks aisle, mumbling to myself in ineffectual tones. Of course, doing so would make me no better than the emaciated progressive elitists that frequent such establishments. I’m more of a red meat and Grain Belt Premium man, myself.
No, instead I have chosen to warmly embrace my deeply felt grocery desires and accept myself for the childish imbecile I am. Next time I’m at the store, and some stuffy grownup sneers at me when I pass by the Quaker Oat Squares and reach for the Coco Krispies, I’ll throw billiards balls at their head until they lose consciousness. As the police officers are escorting me to the squad car, I will repeatedly shout, “Don’t disrespect me!”
And everybody will nod their heads and thank me for my heroic actions.