Some People

I was recently charged with running to the grocery store after 6pm to retrieve bacon. Since Mike had a ticket to the MAVS game, the boys all requested breakfast for dinner.

Normally, this would be totally cool. But, earlier in that same day, I had stuffed my body like it was a sausage casing that had no load limits. The thought of waffles, fried eggs, bacon and fruit just sounded yuck.

So, at my local "natural" grocery store, I laid down a pound of nitrate/nitrite free bacon and a protein bar. Made with honey. And nuts. And chocolate.

Yes, I expect you to think "How in Sam Hill is that any BETTER than the dinner you were preparing for the boys?" It wasn't. It just had a pretty package and said "PROTEIN BAR" and "RAW" and "ALMONDS" and that convinced me it would be a mite bit more nutritious than what I was about to prepare at home.

That bar was like the Sirens that called Odysseus. But, unlike me? He wasn't completely tricked*.

Well, just behind me in line was Mr. Social. I call him that because it seemed that, every aisle I went up or down, I saw him talking to yet another employee or customer. I didn't think much about it, just figured he was friendly. He was always talking to someone, so he didn't say "Boo" to me before we were set up in the same checkout aisle.

Which is when he looked at my purchases and said "Bacon and a protein bar?" with this condescending, holier-than-thou, nutrition-is-ultra-important-to-me tone of voice.

Now, I am super, duper good at comebacks about twenty minutes after the initial insult. But, in the moment, my brain dumps the truth. So, I said "YEAH. My kids wanted breakfast for dinner and it didn't even sound remotely good to me, so I picked up the protein bar for myself."

Did I get a response? No. I got a two-weeks-past-the-due-date-Momma's-about-to-explode-pregnant-pause. And crickets. Pin dropping. Not.another.word.

I looked at the belt to see what Mr. Social/Nutrition was purchasing. And I'm so glad my comeback didn't come right then.

He was purchasing lemonade. Which he told the cashier he wished was cold because he was about to chug the ENTIRE BOTTLE.

Now, we're not talking an 8-ouncer here. We're talking a whopping 32-ounce, organic Santa Cruz lemonade. Calorie count: 400. Sugar count: 100 grams. As in, more than twice a Coke. All carbs.

Oh could I have taken him down on that one. Given him the schpeel about carbs going straight to your gut. How sugar and cancer seem to be friends. How calories mean extra weight. Yes, I could have done that.

But, thankfully, that little weapon in my mouth refused to work in that moment. Thank goodness. And I fumbled through saying something nice to the cashier and blew out the door before I could get any more pseudo-advice via pithy commentary from Mr. Social/Nutrition.

And, honestly? I don't wish that lemonade to go straight to his gut.

I hope it goes straight to his tongue and swells it like the body of a dead rat in the ghettos of some large, stinky city. That way, the next time he has commentary for a desperate Mother trying to placate her kids so her husband can enjoy a night out with the guys, he is rendered utterly speechless.

As for yours truly? Go ahead. Call me the Comeback Kid.


*But, I do have to report, that this thing had a really yummy 3 Musketeers vibe about it. That's not good news for me.