Virtual Grocery Shopping

I simply cannot keep the unexpected joy of virtual grocery shopping to myself any longer. It all began with a phone call from one of my best girlfriends, Chrissie, who hails from Tulsa, Oklahoma. She's one of those tried and true friends who understands that sometimes the best medicine for the bedbound blues is sharing e-mail pictures of our adorable offspring and dishing about a mutual acquaintance who is eyeballs deep in a Jerry Springer-type escapade. It is difficult to find words for this sort of spiritual uplift. But everyone out there blessed with one or more terrific girlfriends knows what I mean.

Our conversation covered a lot of ground -- both topically and geographically -- from one errand to the next with car trips in between, winding up in Chrissie's local grocery store. She asked my opinion on a fruit and cheese tray she was putting together. My comments included saying no to Brie (as it's much better hot than cold) and going with a nice white cheese for the kids (cheap mozzarella is always a good choice because the little buggers care a lot more about about quantity than quality). Chrissie interrupted her shopping to rearrange some strawberries that seemed to be on the verge of falling in the floor -- only to realize too late that *oops* it was actually the handiwork of some overachieving Kroger employee. What seemed like a landslide waiting to happen was actually an "artful arrangement" designed to make you yearn to purchase strawberries. Oh, the pitfalls of produce.

Now, all of this may sound like small potatoes (Hah! produce humor) to those of you free to roam through the grocery whenever you like. But I must remind everyone that I have been confined to my house for the last 7+ weeks. This brief narrative of the world outside was worth more to me than gold. It brought back the smell of fresh fruit -- admit it, our noses are every bit as involved as our tastebuds in making us buy all those peaches and strawberries at this time of year. Ooh, and summer tomatoes. You can't describe it, but you know the smell of a vine ripened summer tomato. They make those mealy, tasteless, hothouse things we settle for in winter seem almost sacrilegious. Best of all is that wonderful chill you get when you leave the oppressive outside heat and mosey toward the refrigerated section. I am willing to bet that there are statistically more people lingering over the lunchmeat section in summer months than any other time of year -- and it has nothing to do with the allure of bologna.

I have to admit that this imaginary shopping trip I took with Chrissie was far better than any real grocery buying I've ever done. No fighting with the plastic produce bags. No detouring up and down an entire aisle because some moron, entranced by the salad dressing samples, has blocked all traffic both ways. No dealing with other people's screaming kids. No hateful glances because your kid is the one screaming. Just the good stuff -- the parts I didn't realize I appreciated about a mundane task to be accomplished weekly...or every other week...or sometime before we starved.

Maybe this is the start of a trend. When I'm free to move about again, I'll appreciate being able to go to the post office and buy the cartoon stamps -- not the boring ones that some nice errand runner picked up for me. Instead of heading straight for diapers at Target, I'll browse the accessories on my way. And at Home Depot, in addition to ant killer, I might just pick up a flat flowers for my border. Who knows? With my newfound awareness, the possibilities are endless. Let's hope I don't lose sight of this epiphany once I'm overrun by bouncing baby boys. In fact, I'm designating you to remind me.