On Pride. Grocery Store Pride.

Let's face it, we all have it. Pride. It's that nagging feeling that often accompanies insecurity and conscience. I'm sure there is a lot to say on the subject but I'll just make one comment today. I had a moment at the grocery store where I realized I have grown.

Back when I lived in the big city, (you know, A LONG TIME AGO,) it was easy to stop on the way home from work to pick up a few things at the grocery store. Just pull the car over or get off a bus stop or two early and hit the store, then continue on the journey home. These days leaving the house is an adventure in itself. A trip to the grocery store is just that, an intentional trip to the grocery store. I'm not going to get in the car and drive 3 miles for the sole purpose of buying a green pepper. Nope, I am going to make something else for dinner or make-do without said pepper. Back in the city, (you know, A LONG TIME AGO,) stopping for one item was not an inconvenience, it was on-the-way.

Tonight I went to the grocery for a few things and when I walked in the door I realized I should buy more than a few things. I was at the store, I had money, I was running out of food at home, and oh right, I WAS AT THE GROCERY STORE. So, I did what few single women do when they go to the grocery store...I grabbed a cart. I know. You can see where this is going...right? No? Keep reading. What were we talking about? Oh right, pride.

You would think carrying around the SW (single woman) basket would hurt my pride but for some reason, it is the opposite. Maybe because on the few occasions I take a cart I tend to fill it up. Suddenly I feel like an impostor, pretending like I have other people to feed, or like everyone is looking at me thinking, "she is going to eat all of that herself because she is alone."

Wow, I did not intend for this to become an "I'm single post" but apparently, it's that too. Huh.

Anyway, like I was saying, I realized I have grown and here was the moment. Tonight, I put my bags in my cart and rolled my cart to my car. Whoa. Normally, I carry each bag, regardless of the number. The plastic stretches and cuts into my fingers under the weight of my SW's half gallon of milk, bottle of wine, and three apples. That's right, you can fit all of that and more into a SW basket.

As I unloaded my bags directly from cart-to-car, I realized how far I have come. Not because I was taking less trips to the grocery store and buying more at one time, but because I didn't care about what I bought or who saw me or how I transported my groceries around the store or to my car. My SW basket carrying, would-rather-carry-every-painful-plastic-bag-than-accept-help-from-the-bag-boy-half-my-age pride has diminished. A little. Enough. For now.

See? I have grown.