what I actually eat in a week, or if it’s just what I can carry home in one trip.
As soon as my basket gets heavy, I gotta check out. Any extraneous items get left behind.
…But maybe just one more?
Jess. Don’t do this to yourself. Put down the artichoke hearts. You do not need them. Don’t you dare try to sneak them into the basket. I can see you. I AM you. You will pay for it later on the 25-minute walk home. Don’t do this to yourself, please. You know better.
Fine. You know who’s to blame. Don’t whine when your fingers are pinching with pain and you’re making weird faces on the walk home.
I know. I know what you’re going to say. Jess, just buy one of those little fabric shopping carts with the wheels on them. Then you can just drag everything home.
NO.
I will die before I buy one of those. I just can’t. I know I’m not a vain person, so I can have this one thing. It’s already so hard to meet a man. I have no proof of this, but I just assume that one of those little shopping carts is an instant boner killer. I know it is for me. I refuse.
I am a lean, mean, grocery-carrying machine, even if I’m constantly trying to sabotage myself.
The girl who just can't play it cool 