So I Went Shopping Again…

Nerdguy, Molly, and Grace were heading off to a friend’s cottage for the holiday weekend.  Maggie and I decided that we would stay here and have a quiet weekend together.

Nerdguy found out what kind of beer his host drinks, and I set off to the beer store to buy a case of it for them to take up with them.  The beer store is in the same plaza as the grocery store.  The store that I am quite sure has my picture hanging in the same area where they post the flyers they receive from CSIS (that’s our version of the FBI in Canada, except that no one makes movies about them.  Even just typing this probably has me on a watch list.  If I wasn’t already on one.)  Read this post about my grocery store run-in if you are confused.  I’ll wait here.

I set out to the store, understandably nervous about being around all those glass bottles, but steeled in my determination not to leave any suspicious notes this time.  I rarely go into the beer store because Nerdguy doesn’t drink very often, and surprisingly we don’t entertain a lot.  I know you are just as shocked as I am.

For some reason, when I do go there or to the liquor store, I get all nervous and shaky like I am doing something wrong.  I think I must have lived my last life during the Prohibition.  Or I didn’t do enough underage drinking to get it out of my system.  It’s a good thing I don’t do drugs…can you just imagine how uncool I would be trying to make a buy.  I’m sure it would be along the lines of me bursting into tears, telling the dealer some weird random fact about my childhood, and throwing my purse at him before turning and running away.  I don’t think the police will be contacting me anytime soon to do undercover work.

I arrived there a couple of minutes before they opened, so I was forced to stand around awkwardly waiting for the doors to open.  Like an eager Black Friday shopper.  Only more desperate looking.  Apparently I was the only one that felt the need to line up at a beer store at 9:30am.

Once I got inside the  arctic cooler chilled room, that always brings on McDonald’s walk-in cooler flashbacks, I searched around for the right kind of beer.  I couldn’t find it anywhere.  I wasn’t even sure it was a real name, or just an elaborate prank that Nerdguy was playing because he felt like living dangerously. So I was circling the aisles like I was looking for a lost puppy, thinking about the name of the beer.

And then it happened.

I had this incredible urge to start yelling the name out.

“Stella!  STELLLLLAAAA!!!!” in Elaine Benes fashion from this episode of Seinfeld.

But I’m not quite that unhinged.  Yet.  So I broke into a fit of giggles instead.

I had become that person.

Thankfully I found the cases of Stella at the end of a row.  That is when I involuntarily yelled out “Stella!”  That is also when the cashier likely pushed the little button under the counter.

I went up to pay, and was alternating between giggling, and deciding whether or not explaining my laughter would make the situation better or worse.  I decided it would make it worse.

Then I thought I should leave a note.