First, there was the super hip couple in their faux fur (his) and funky Vans jacket (hers), who seemed to be camping out in front of the sprouted breads. I practically had to stomp on their Birkenstocks to get them to move. Then, this pudgy, feral child kept bumping into me as he stared, gape jawed, through the window of the meat counter, oohing and aahing at salmon filets in ways that did not seem natural for a 7-year-old boy.
At one point, I stood by the bok choy, transfixed, as that little organic fart fiddled with the spout of a large urn. When he finally got it open, golden honey poured out, pooling at the soles of his light-up natural-colored canvas tennis shoes. And then--suddenly!--there were two of him, some non-GMO experiment gone awry, and his twin started grabbing maniacally at a now-opened package of honey straws.
By the time I made it to the yogurts, my progress was stymied by a bearded, dazed man who might have been having a medical event or maybe he was recently transported by the tiny sample of fresh-squeezed acai juice, empty cup in hand.
Moments later, I abandoned my shopping list and headed to the checkout counter, where I watched an older woman in a "She Persisted" t-shirt carefully wrap each piece of her organic produce in a separate plastic bag.
I might need to start meditating or something. . .
I could not drive to HyVee fast enough (yes, I drove there--so what?!), where I was reunited with my people, most of them a bit frumpy and clad in Husker wear. Newly relaxed, I felt myself drawn to processed foods, for some reason. And donuts. And liquor, but I resisted, since there was an East student working the checkout line I was in. Plus, it wasn't quite 10 a.m., and I didn't want to be that person.
I want to eat well. I really do. I want to get giddy about collagen and cauliflower, grass-fed buffalo and beets, but, sometimes, I'm just not up for the circus that comes with all those things.
