Here’s how it usually goes down*:

I arrive in lounge wear that may or may not be appropriate public attire and get a basket. I always choose a basket in lieu of a cart because obviously a basket will keep me from buying too much, or at least keep me from buying a large frozen pizza (they don’t fit). It doesn’t; I still do; and I just end up carrying things in my arms.

Anyway, my immediate go-to’s are Velveeta Shells ‘n Cheese and a two liter bottle of ginger ale. I then pick either a bag of Cape Cods or those awesome Terra veggie chips, or both. Next I visit the frozen foods section, where I pick out a pizza to carry around and a sweet – usually a pint of something Haagen Daaz makes (I’m on a dulce de leche kick right now).

If the line isn’t too long, I hunker down for a philly cheesesteak. I would do just about anything for a philly cheesesteak from Publix…anything except waiting in a line with more than three people in it.

It’s towards the end of my shopping, when my basket is overflowing and my hands are full, that I inevitably run into someone I know. Usually it’s in the manner of me chasing down an errant can of crescent rolls as it goes rolling beneath another shopper’s cart –  obviously, I know said shopper.

“Oh, hello Mrs. You’re In My Mom’s Bible Study! It’s great to see you!”

“This weather is ridiculous, Mrs. I Dogsit For You & Sleep At Your House When You’re Out of Town, but you still look so cute! Can’t wait to see Rover next week!”

Everyone laughs, and we go our separate ways, but I know they’ve judged me. It’s okay because I am judging me, too.

And that is why I don’t buy my wine at the grocery store.

*I would like to note that this applies to SUNDAYS only. I do not eat like this every day…just Sundays. Obviously.