I’ve seriously considered not drinking milk for the rest of my life solely to avoid this ever happening again. ever.

Yesterday was probably the first day ever that I had less than 1% motivation to go for a run.  It was pathetic.  Like I would have rather sat on my couch feeling like this guy in all his glory than go for a run.  In fact, as I was driving home from work, I was dreaming of pouring some red wine, cleaning the abode a bit, eating some good grub, and maybe watching a movie with the man of the house, or maybe getting to read more than 2 pages of my book before I had to go do something / fall asleep holding the book.  Notice I did not include a run in said dream, and I didn’t think it would take much to make those dreams happen.  I was so inconspicuously persuasive in the way I told Devin, in detail, the kind of evening that would make me happy.  Wine!  Food!  Cleaning!  Movie!  Jabba the Hut!  COME ON!!!

3 miles later, we were back from a run.

Back at the bat cave, I was racking my brain for dinner ideas.  Here is our issue.  When we have a holiday weekend, or any weekend at the lake or out of town, it’s like all planning/proactiveness (it’s a word)/normalcy is gone for at least 6 days afterward.  We rush out of the house as soon as we can on Friday and come back as late as we can on Monday, and then we wonder why we have no food, we have no jobs, our pets’ HEADS ARE FALLING OFF!!  So we have been scrounging for meals all week, trying to stretch our fish and bread Jesus-miracle style before we make our big trip to the store this weekend.  No one likes to go to the store all week for this or that.  We like to plan it all out and go ONCE.  And if it’s not a good time to go, we resort to rationing.

I suggested breakfast for dinner last night.  Pancakes or waffles; either way, I’m happy.  We had all of the stuff for it.  Easy.  D Money wanted BLTs, which coincidentally also make me happy (because bacon makes me happy; I’m not here to be judged).  We also had all of the stuff for those.  BLTs and pancakes.  And wine.  That’s all we had in our apartment and THAT is what’s for dinner.  Why are you gagging?

The problem was that we actually didn’t have enough milk to make said pancakes slash waffles because when Devin eats a bowl of cereal, he uses the amount of milk that 17 cows make.  I’m just bitter.  Anyway, the discovery of our nearly empty milk jug was precisely when the night went downhill, and when I say downhill, picture me snowboarding for the first time down a mountain in Aspen ending in a crash cracking my sacrum.  That kind of downhill.

I happily packed up and headed to the store for some milk because I would much rather do that than help cook tonight.  A quick trip.  Milk.  That’s it.  Oh, and shampoo because Devin is out and Central Market is the only place that has his kind.  Milk and shampoo. 

The Texan readers of this blog can probably vouch for the awesomeness that is Central Market.  My favorite grocery store.  A block from our apartment.  Bliss.  A quick trip to central market isn’t really usually at all ever possible for me.  When you walk in, they have your cart ready for you with some coupons and a little newsletter on it and a greeter at the door who makes you feel like you’re walking into Disney World and a sample at every corner all the time and a selection of flowers you cannot find anywhere else and they let you drink wine while you shop and OMG WHY DIDNT I REMEMBER THAT LAST NIGHT.

The store is an endless maze of aisles that, oh how convenient, forces you to walk the ENTIRE grocery store before you find the check out.  Unless you take the shortcut.  Which I did.

I came back with romaine lettuce, some new Texas salsa, shampoo, bananas…Central Market makes me buy unnecessary items, but it makes me oh so happy to have been there.  When I got home, the apartment was filled with the delectable smell of bacon.  The huz was hard at work on the BLTs and I was just about to crack open the wine my mouth had been watering for when he asked me to give him the milk so he could start the pancakes.

Shortcut = I missed the bloody dairy aisle.

I just stared at him.  Waiting for him to read my mind, hand me a glass of wine, and leap on his white horse and ride away to fetch the jug.  Since he uses it all in one bowl of cereal anyway.  And somehow, in that 2 seconds of staring at him while he was laughing at me, I realized that he was elbows deep in cooking the rest of the food, and I would be the one going back to get the milk.  The blasted milk.

I did what you would have done.  I ate half of the bacon he had already cooked.  Jab.  And then he told me while I was out for the milk, I would need to get more bacon.  Because I just ate what we needed for the sandwiches.  Touché, Mr. Carroll.  Touché.

So I packed up again.  Bacon.  Pancake Mix because we were about to use it all.  Milk.  Milk.  Milk.  MILK MILK MILK!  And as I was moping out the door, I turned back to see my handsome husband standing in the living room, slyly smiling as he chomped down on a strip of bacon, and the only thing I could think to yell at him was WINGARDIUM LEVIOSA!!!! 

I only read extremely intellectual literature.

So this is what I found out.  On your second trip to Central Market within 30 minutes, and it is about 15 minutes before the store closes, the greeter isn’t as nice the second time.  It’s less like Disney World and more like walking into the twilight zone or a pscyh ward.  Luckily, I do that a lot.  The experience is less pleasant the second time especially when there is a group of east Asia tourists who are solely there to gawk at the massive grocery store and talk about how all Americans do is eat (and they’re right), but they happen to be standing right in front of the pancake mix and this American hasn’t eaten in about 9 hours.  I made it home alive although the checker looked at me like I may not if I kept offering to let the other guy go in front of me and oh by the way did I mention that Central Market is also one of the most expensive grocery stores on this planet and I don’t even want to think about what I could have bought with that money. 

And when I walked in the kitchen and asked for wine and Devin said by the time we eat it will be time for bed so opening a bottle probably wont be a good idea, and in fact would be wasteful, I brilliantly shouted I JUST WENT TO THE MILK TO GET THE BACON!!!

Clearly, I belonged in that psych ward.

And so, it made sense to make BLTs and pancakes for dinner.

Without wine, I might add.

Because we had no other groceries…and we’re waiting to go to the store.