"Clean up in aisle three..."

A supermarket is an unlikely locale for a breakdown, no matter how minor. The task is at hand; provide for the family, the hunter-gather knows no distractions. But when I shop my mood becomes one of reverie- remembrance of things past and things that might have been. So when I paused between the garlic and onions the other day, it was as if an old friend had called with sad news. This is my life, I thought, wasted in the produce section, if I had married x I wouldn't be here now, I'd be...

...right here of course, or in another store like this one. X is probably doing the same thing right now. The days of servants are over- besides, I enjoy being chief procurer. Our lives, at least in the basics, have certain irreducible minimums, and any 'style points' we wish to accrue are merely a matter of taste, not worth.

Was it the poignant onions? The passivity of the potatoes? Or was it the commonality of the cabbage that caused me to wallow in self-pity? I feel better when I'm in the chocolate aisle.