Yesterday I was waiting to checkout at the Trader Joe’s in my neighborhood. It’s the busiest in the country so the line winds around the store. Instead of my favorite pastime of playing Tetris while waiting, I engaged in my second favorite—judging others and the food they’re purchasing.
Come on, you know you do it too.
I observed the bratty kids and thought, you’re lucky I’m not your mother—or, ugh, grandmother. I perused the cart of a svelte woman and surmised that I too could be a rail if willing to eat only the multiple bags of kale she had in her basket. Who eats that shit anyway? And even if you do, you can’t possibly enjoy it. All that endless chewing of something that was once a garnish in every buffet in Las Vegas. I also saw a young married couple looking so miserable (as he stood in line and she placed items in their cart) that I felt like tapping them on the shoulder to say, “Rip the bandage off and hire lawyers. You’ve lost that lovin’ feeling.”
Then I saw the man with avocados. He had three in his hands as he walked back to his place. He held them up with glee and smiled lovingly at someone behind me. I surmised that he and his love were entertaining guests that evening and guacamole was on the menu. He’d found three that were perfectly ripened and that pleased him immensely. I thought, Aww, I want someone to smile at me over produce. He had a happy Yoda-ish face and I quickly amended my original wish.
I want a handsome man to smile at me over produce.
I want a handsome man to smile at me over produce and one who’d never wear those heinous sandals.
I adjusted even more.
I want a handsome man to smile at me over produce and one who’d never wear those heinous sandals—in fact, one who’d never wear sandals at all.
Then I harshly generalized.
God, men have ugly feet.
Avocado Romeo and I were in two different lines and he caught up and then went ahead. I looked for his partner, expecting to see a sweet-faced woman, glowing with love while wearing sensible footwear. He was alone and I decided his significant other had gone to grab a jar of salsa or tortilla chips.
I’m telling you, I can build a story without a single fact.
I kept watching, waiting for his partner to join him and then something odd happened. He held the avocados up just as he had before, and grinned joyfully.
What the hell is he doing, holding them up like baby Simba?
He placed two in his basket and took one in his hand, put it near his ear and knocked, then smiled extra big. He did the same with the other two.
OK, this guy’s a flippin’ nutjob.
Listen, I sincerely appreciate a perfectly ripened butter fruit, but, sir, have some self-control. If a man can’t maintain his sanity over Trader Joe’s produce, there’s no telling what he might do in Duane Reade’s seasonal aisle. One of those spray bottle fans could send him into a euphoric state he might never dial down.
New Yorkers are unfazed by crazy. That’s comforting. I like to know if I go all Mrs. Havisham (always a possibility), the city will embrace me. Especially as I approach my fifty-fourth birthday. Did you know she was only in her mid-fifties? You’re a cruel man, Mr. Dickens.
After paying for my groceries, I didn’t lament lugging the heavy bags home alone as I normally do and in fact was temporarily grateful for my spinsterhood. One can never tell the eccentricities lurking under the surface of what appears to be a perfectly normal man—be it a foot fetish, the furry scene or an uncontrollable yearning to worship Persea americana.
I always thought I was going to end up an old spinster, with my cats and fur coats. Gemma Arterton
Matt Mooney says
Melanie,
I too have noticed the products that others buy while waiting in line, especially if there isn’t a ring on her finger. I take inventory of their choices (lifestyle) then I immediately turn my head in shame and try to casually hide the Twinkies and Budweisers in my cart. Also, I agree with your Kale comment, you might as well eat straw.
And your comment on men’s feet is eighty percent correct but not entirely true. A lot of men know their feet are ugly and not fit for public display. Those that don’t, look like total tools. The difference between the sexes on this topic is that all women think their feet are sexy and pretty when in fact only twenty percent probably are… the rest could climb trees with those things.
Melani says
Haha, “climb trees” made me laugh out loud, Matt. You may be right. I don’t know any woman who has admitted her feet are horrid. Believe me, I’ve seen some ugly female feet. Mine, of course, are beautiful (snicker).
Good to know I’m not the only grocery cart creeper. Thanks for the delightful comment, Matt.
Rod says
Hmmmm… Men have ugly feet. As a man, I find that women with bunions are equally (possibly more) scary. Of course, maybe that comes from too many down-dogs – spending time in pose looking at other people’s feet.
Oh well, life goes on – with or without shoes.
Melani says
True, Rod, large bunions are ghastly. Perhaps part of the issue with the the male foot is that most men don’t get regular pedicures–something I’d highly recommend. The toenails are jagged and often discolored, among other things that could be fixed with a little TLC from a professional. It’s funny that you mention looking at feet during down dog. I just returned from the beach and the bottom of my feet are torn up from the sand. I was going to put balm and socks on last night and forgot. I am going to yoga today and wanted my feet to look presentable. This morning I was thinking, “Who really looks at feet during yoga, anyway?” You’ve properly shamed me and I will pumice before dogging.
Danie Buxton says
Pedicure perfection proudly promised posthaste !
Melani says
Painless, palatable, paradisiac pampering, Danie.
Vivella Zapparoli says
Thanks for making me smile Melani, in the midst of a dreadful headache. I so agree with you on the sandals, ha ha. For some reason I cannot bear those on a man, and that includes ‘crocs’. And as far as the food goes, being Italian I prefer to have everything full fat and ‘real’ and though I don’t cook kale, when I do spinach it is baby spinach quickly stir fried with olive oil, small sliced onions, mushrooms, rosa tomatoes and a touch of nutmeg, so it certainly isnt bland. I do think that those of us who are alone observe others a lot more than couples do. Thanks again for another wonderful read, I enjoy everything you write.
Melani says
I want an invitation to dinner, Vivella. You’re my kind of cook. Sorry to hear you have a headache but I’m happy the piece made you smile. You’re right about Crocs. Just awful. Thanks for taking the time to comment, Vivella. I hope you feel better soon.
jennifer says
So Funny! I always examine the cart contents, then the person, I make up my mind right there and then!
A new category~ Foodographics.
Melani says
I know! I am so judgmental. Boring food, boring person–my motto. We do enjoy food, Jennifer.
Louise corman says
Hilarious! First of all, I was trying to figure out what to do with the kale I impulsively bought when I read this. AND, my husband wins the ugly foot award. I have not looked at his feet for 35 years. Problem solved! If I ever divorce him, I now have a decent reason, thanks to you!
Melani says
If you discover a use for kale, Louise, send it my way. I do have a friend who claims to make a delicious white bean and kale soup. Yes, divorcing because of ugly feet is absolutely legit. I guess you could ask him to cover them with socks and avoid attorney’s fees. 🙂