While grocery shopping recently, the products seemed to spring to life. It made the hum-drum task much more entertaining.
For instance, I suspect that devilish Mrs. Paul and hunky Mr. Clean (no, he’s not gay) are an item.
Furthermore, I believe they’re sneaking off to a love nest. How else to explain this improbably named pudding?
Some grocery items are long-time AARP members who, like most of their demographic, are spending more time on physicians’ appointments than any other activity. Fortunately, transportation is not an issue, since they are all conveniently located in the same aisle.
This little side-by-side corn meal display is a sly reference to the Underground Railroad.
Nearby, grocery history teaches us that the crusades were really all about the cause of baking.
Over in the frozen food aisle, I’m sorry to say, women have not yet broken through the glass doors. Told not to worry their pretty little heads about manly things like meat, they focus on the sweeter side of life, churning out pies and cobblers and their long-time companion, ice cream.
Little ladies, leave the sausages and burgers to Bob and Bubba and their brethren.
Exception to the rule: frozen Italian cuisine. Then it’s Mama Mia time.
The grocery store contains lessons about the bad old day of overt racism, when black men were called “Uncle,” black women were called ”Aunt,” and job options were limited to waiter and porter and cook.
But at least there’s been some improvement.
Unlike many human maladies, gigantism is represented in the grocery aisles.
As is anti-progeria. Little Debby has not only stayed freakishly young, she has never – unlike Aunt Jemima – updated her wardrobe or her general look. Conclusion: eating chemical-laced cupcakes stunts your growth, and keeps you chronically pre-pubescent.
When it comes to finding your look and sticking with it, Clabber Girl wins the prize. If you’re a classic from hard-scrabble oil lamp days, you are impervious to fads.
Native Americans are realistically represented in the coffee and tea aisle, amongst the sweeteners.
And parents without partners seem to be everywhere. I have a hunch that Mrs. Cubbison is a widow.
Further, it is my belief that Mrs. Dash is separated from Mr. Dash, and will soon take back her maiden name, Accent. It’s all in the punctuation clan.
Mrs. C and Mrs. D are both flirting with Ken. IMHO, he should choose Mrs. Cubbison. That would be so romaine-tic.
For the many ladies of the grocery store, including the Sun-Maid raisin gal, there are at least two other available single guys on the food store shelves. One is a sea captain, the other a pasta chef. Since it’s not easy to find bachelors with solid employment these days, their personal ideosyncracies should be overlooked.
Here ends my magical mystery tour through the Acme aisles. Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to go look for secret messages in my stack of dry cleaning receipts.
