pombardment!

Todd is inexplicably drawn to Grocery Outlet, a fact which I find to be a bit scandalous, given his high standards where food is concerned. Me, I'm just a snob, and can't quite bring myself to buy diet TAB, which are placed next to the garden rakes, which draws one's eye straight to the pyramid of off-brand Pepto Bismal. It's just too damned higgeldy piggeldy in there for me. I don't think the cereal and fertilizer should share a display, and I must reveal the true retail beast within me and confess that such a vast array of non-brands makes me feel like I'm in a foreign country. Crapland.

Anyway, every so often, if a person is crazy enough to go in several times a week, a person can find good deals. It's like the lottery. After all, that coconut chocolate bar from my previous blog post was found at Grocery Outlet. We've also gotten Amy's frozen entrees, and lots and lots and lots of candy. (Proof of G.O.'s spell, for Todd doesn't even like candy, yet he comes home with wheelbarrows full of chocolate [gag!] every few days.)

I never know how to react to the disgustingly yellow bags he brings in by the dozen because whatever he has found, he has bought 75 of them. Could be Kit Kats, could be a deep-dish mushroom souffle with spelt crust and tartar sauce topping. But if it is a delicious chicken, broccoli, cheese casserole, there will never be another one again. Ever.

"I thought it looked interesting." He'll say. Frequently, after baking some rank concoction, he'll catch me the next time I head out the door and say, pleadingly, "Please offer these (74 packages of) souffles to (whomever)."

Okay let me get to my point. Todd has gone completely mad over those P♥M juices, in their tall sleek glasses. He is so taken with them that he buys 20 at a time, and we can scarcely fit milk in the refrigerator, for all the P♥M. Oh, and we don't really even like it that much. Sure the first few seconds elicit a Hawaiian Punch-like response in your mouth, but then the furious bitter receptor taste buds rise up and let you know just how wrong you were. Blech. I have long said that while one hard-earned pomegranate seed is delicious, a bowl of them is bitter as hell, and the juice is no different. Since nothing else will fit the refrigerator, we have no orange juice or anything, so we drink P♥M. So he keeps buying it. The problem here is that the glasses are glasses, not plastic. In other words, not disposable. So we have them all. ALL. They're lined up in our cupboard like shiny soldiers, they adorn our counter tops, they have permanent residence in at least one half of our sink, and if you were thinking about putting a cup on the top rack of the dishwasher, fuggedaboudit.

So what do we do? Should I start smuggling four glasses into every house I visit and leave them in the cupboards like some weird reverse bandit? I felt less overrun by our four mice, who produced approximately 97 babies each day. Todd suggested the glasses might make a nice vase, but A) Our yard is gravel, so not a lot of pretty things waiting to be picked, and B) The glasses aren't nice enough to give as a vase. You know? Like, "Here Megan, in honour of your birth I brought these beautiful rocks, in this totally frou-frou P♥M vase. Happy trashmoon, er, babymoon." Also, I can't move them fast enough doling them out one at a time.

Fortunately, our entire set of cobalt blue chunky glasses broke over the course of the past month, all 12 of them. They were a wedding gift so after 13 years I was ready for a change, plus it made room for our P♥Mware. Ooh lah lah.

What, you know you're jealous.





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