I found myself in the drinks aisle at Meijer tonight around 10:30pm after an impromptu dinner gathering and in anticipation of a movie night at my place tomorrow. A good start to the weekend, I think, especially since it’s only Thursday.
I’ve been doing my best serious adult impression for the past few months, which involves going to the grocery store once a week on a weekend morning.
Peti is not a morning person. Read that again, slowly. Peti is NOT a morning person. Mornings make me feel like I’m operating on half a brain. On good days, I feel ok by about 10am. Before that I’m polite and I’m functioning, but it’s hard to buck the body clock.
Driving to the store, I felt so much happier at the prospect of groceries than usual. There was no traffic, the air was cool, and I had to smile when I saw three cars in front of me make my favorite crazy beeline across the parking lot. (Said maneuver is impossible on weekend mornings.)
Going inside was like finding a store full of myself. Everyone had baskets, not carts, everyone was wearing sweatpants or looked ready to go out, and a few choice aisles were full. The self checkout was actually zipping along for once. And it was quiet (you’ve got to focus to pick the beer, apparently). Mike’s Hard Lemonade was on sale and Woodchuck was sold out. Meaning? Tomorrow must be some kind of international girls’ night out.
It was so nice to shop without being bombarded by carts, strollers, screaming members of the next generation, and soccer moms. Don’t get me wrong: I love kids, and kids need moms, but I’ve had my heel clipped by one too many manicured mommies to not see them as a threat.
Even now, I feel more alert than I do at 8am despite peanut butter laden breakfasts. I thought I was making big strides towards breaking my old habit of staying up late and waking up later. And I was, I’ve been doing it for months. The truth, however, is that I long for the old days of enjoying the night.
