Anyway, I decided to exploit my new-found mobility to the fullest, and I drove to the grocery store to pick up dinner. I bought my comfort foods: a shrimp ring and baby food. I also bought peanut butter, fluff, bread, paper plates, and plastic utensils, so I can make fluffernutters at work when I'm starving to death for lack of time to take lunch. Stupid grocery store had JUST plastic forks, JUST plastic spoons, but not JUST plastic knives. Annoying.
I digress. Back to my comfort foods. Since I was a tween, I've enjoyed this particular kind of baby food. It's weird (and I know that) but whatever. At my age, though, there's a certain peril to buying yourself jars upon jars of baby food. This evening, the kindly cashier asked me how old my baby is.
GAH! My what?! Huh??
I lied. I said I was picking them up for a friend's child, and I wasn't sure how old it was. Pfft! I actually bothered concocting a story for this person who probably couldn't care less what I eat. Why, oh why, weren't ANY of the self-checkout lanes open?