Faithful readers. While I know that many of you look to me as a pillar of emotional strength, stability, and excellent decision-making, you should know that sometimes, even BreezyK has bad days too.
Like the one I had this past Saturday.
After spending Friday night calling upon my BFF’s vodka, water and lime to fix my life problems, and that having resulted in nothing but a couple (ok, a lot) of drunk dials and a subsequent case of the booze blues, I decided that Saturday night was going to be a “stay home and wallow” kind of evening. Only one problem: an empty fridge. AKA: nothing to emotionally eat.
So I decided to go grocery shopping.
I had been warned never to go grocery shopping alone on a Saturday night by my former roommate, who did it once and came home scarred for life by all of the lonely, tortured souls she encountered. But to be honest, I didn’t find it that bad. In fact. 9pm on a Saturday is probably the best possible time to go. The store was virtually empty, with no screaming children or annoying novelty carts to contend with, and what other shoppers I did see didn’t look all that sad. Couples picking up odds and ends.. young moms stocking up on diapers for the week to come.. we weren’t pathetic. We just knew the “secret”.
I tried to keep my emotions in check- and consequently, the amount of junk that found its way into my cart. I stood at the cash register surveying my items: bananas. salad greens. Organic cereal. All looked to be in order. I gave myself a mental pat on the back as I flipped through People Stylewatch, wondering who, besides Jenna Dewan, could ever pull off “lemon” coloured skinny jeans.
I was walking home with my many bags when a group of young women in party dresses and 5 inch heels breezed past me, carrying with them the scent of cheap chardonnay, cigarette smoke and Harajuku Lovers by Gwen Stefani. As I hastily moved out of their way and attempted to keep my fruit and veg from spilling onto the sidewalk and becoming a certified organic pigeon feast, I felt a pang of sadness. That should be me, out there… looking hot and wearing cheap perfume. Not standing here on the street in leggings and oversized sweatshirt, with nothing but a bag of overpriced Honeycrisps and broken dreams.
Dejected, I continued my walk home, cursing myself for being so god damn healthy. Now I had nothing-not even a piece of dark chocolate- to take the edge off! I remembered then, that there was a candy store right down the street. I’ll just go have a look, I thought. It probably won’t even be open.
But guess what guys? IT WAS.
Screw the apples. God obviously wanted me to have Reese Peanut Butter Cups. So in I went.
This store had everything- from individually wrapped bazooka joes, to gobstoppers the size of your head, to chocolate covered, PEANUT BUTTER FILLED pretzels. As I struggled with my grocery bags and tried to scoop each of these treasures into their individual baggies, it occurred to me that I knew now why the grocery store didn’t seem so sad.
It’s because all the really sad people…. came here.
As I took a moment to reflect on this, I saw a guy about my age filling a bag with what looked to be 2lbs worth of sour patch kids. Poor dude, I thought. He definitely just got dumped… and now he’s trying to redirect the pain through the self-infliction of countless canker sores.
I began to worry that someone I knew might see me. Let’s be honest- a bulk candy store is probably the last place you ever want to be seen alone on a Saturday night. Except for maybe the self-help aisle of a book store. But even then, at least you are actively trying to solve your problems. Not just medicating them with fuzzy peaches and M&Ms.
Suddenly the decision between sour or regular jujubes didn’t seem so critical, and I dropped the oversized metal scoop I had been holding, and headed straight to the cash register. Might as well quit while I was ahead.
I’d like to tell you that my sad realization snapped some sense back into me and that I went home, got dressed, and made some plans. But sadly, I just put on my oldest PJs and settled in for a night of moping and a marathon of Campus PD on MTV ( FYI: if you were considering doing donuts on the beach while drunk and underage without a license in Texas..just don’t. The Galveston PD does not take kindly to it. )
And as I pulled a cherry twist from my bag of temporary happiness, I gave a silent little toast: To all the other lonely souls out there. Please, God, let none of you be watching The Notebook.