I have a rule: He who complains about how the job gets done gets the job. My mother used to insist that towels be folded neatly into perfectly creased thirds, then in half, then hung evenly over a towel rack. I’m happy if the kids pitch in and the towels are folded neatly enough I can stack them on a shelf in the closet. Speaking of haphazard towel storage, who builds a house without a linen closet?
My husband once complained about how much money I spent at the grocery store, and got that job for the next twenty years or so. This is how he envisions me at Kroger’s, I’m sure:
To be fair, he’s not that far from the truth.
But you should see me at Costco. I’m the one curled up in the fetal position behind the paper cups. It takes 23 minutes just to park, dig out ID, get in the door, float past the tech gadgets like a Central Park pony wearing blinders, nap on the patio furniture, and figure out where the premium cheddar’s hiding this week. Yeah! Who moved my cheese!
Shopping at busy brick and mortar stores is not this introvert’s idea of “fun.” If I didn’t know he’d think it was weird and unsafe, I’d do all my grocery shopping at 1:00 AM. But now, I’ve discovered the unexpected joys of living like a heathen: wake up, Sunday morning, and give thanks for another day. Then, run to Costco while everyone else is in church, remembering to give thanks for the bounty of steelhead trout, lamb chops, artisanal romaine, good cheese, and short lines.
Too bad they’re closed on Easter.
Question: Which is more appropriate to serve on Easter: Rabbit or Lamb?
Maybe chocolate rabbit, jelly bean eggs, Peeps, and New Zealand lamb with fresh asparagus, not necessarily in that order…
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