I abhor it.
I really do. Bella is napping right now, I’m sitting on the couch writing and in my head I know we have to go after she wakes up. Lordy, I hate grocery shopping. It’s like the biggest waste of time to me.
I understand this is very much a first world problem, there are people who would kill to walk into a store full of groceries and have the money to buy them.
However, knowing this makes me feel like the little kid whose mom tells her to eat her peas because, “There are starving children in Africa who would gladly eat them.” Then you sit in your chair and think, “Welp, then box this sucker up and sent it over express. Because I.don’t.want.it.”
I meal plan, and then we head out and it’s like – getting dressed and shoes and unbuckling and buckling and driving and crowds and I try to make it fun and somewhat educational but all I really want to do is have the doorbell ring and someone give me my groceries that I sat on my couch in my sweats and ordered by clicking my finger on the computer.
And no, we don’t have that service here. I checked.
File that under a very lazy moment.
Once I get home, there is a great sense of satisfaction in having a full pantry an fridge, knowing that everything I need to cook the meals in the days to come is right there. Shiny. New. Waiting.
And then slowly but surely it all disappears and it starts all over again.
There is no solution, nor should there be. It’s just me. Venting about having to shop for food. Like a whiny 5 year old. That is all.
::puts on shoes and pouts::