It began so innocently.
I had woken up after a nap, the day I got home to New York. I was still in a daze when my mom suggested I go, if I was up for it. I assented, and off I went, in a stupor. But when the doors opened and I set my eyes upon one of the most wonderful things you could ever see, it was love at first sight.
Could it be real? Was it even possible? As I wandered through the brightly lit aisles, I had to restrain myself from skipping and throwing invisible rose petals, wedding bells chiming in my head. I ran my hand over the cans and bags and cartons and jars, my heart pounding. This is love, I thought.
I waltzed through the prepared foods, and the deli meats, and the bakery, past the produce and the dairy and the frozen foods. I sailed by the cereals and the jams, the spices and the mac & cheese, the dried cranberries and the extra large bags of Cheetos. I fawned over the chips--oh, the chips!--tortilla, lime, potato, and salt & vinegar. I cried out with delight at the wall of canned soups, the cookie aisle, the pickles; I practically nuzzled a jar of pickles. And then I cried out at the sight of fresh, bottled milk (whole, 1%, 2% and skim--who would have thought?), and feasted my eyes on the succulent cupcakes and scones.
I giggled at the bagels, those round bastions of joy, and gaped at the donuts. I marveled at the cheeses and cradled them in my arms. I eyed the endless rows of candy, and solemnly placed a large bottle of grapefruit juice in the cart.
Super Stop and Shop, what have you done to me?