Narcissism

I decided to finally tackle the boys’ pink bathroom with the vast amount of money we made at our garage sale. First on my list was to paint the double sink cabinet. You know the one. It’s a charming shade of dinge and has two pink sinks. Perfect for creatures with testicles!

I sanded, primed, and removed doors and hinges with 50 years worth of layered paint. (More on this unspeakable chore later.) Then, I chose the perfect yellow-green paint color, until I put in on the cabinet. I was back at Home Depot before the paint dried. No, really. Then I returned home and re-primed the cabinets, drawers, and doors and applied one layer of new, less offensive paint to the sink cabinet. All of this took seven hours, including lunch, trips to Home Depot, and sobbing gently into cupped hands.

As you can imagine, I was quite the mess by 4 o’clock when I realized I had to prepare dinner. My sweats, threadbare t-shirt, and hands and arms were all splattered with paint. I knew I should tidy myself up, but I decided if I was going to walk around town with the look of exhaustion, I might as well give people an idea of my day. You know, just in case they don’t read my blog.

I made the rounds at my VONS. Pre-roasted chicken. Check. Brie cheese. Check. Mozzarella. Check. I made my way over to the tomatoes.

I wouldn’t call myself a connoisseur of the juicy fruit, but the other day I tried some “Sugar Plum Roma Tomatoes” from Trader Joe’s. These little gems are so sweet, I truly thought I had accidentally sprinkled sugar on my salad. (I haven’t had sugar in almost a week, so accept my estimation cautiously.) So, there I was, checking out the tomatoes in hopes of finding something similar. I found one that said sweet, and was willing to take a gamble. Suddenly, another mom sidled up next to me and picked up a box and brand of tomato I originally snubbed in my search. Not to be out-tomatoed, I reached out for a box of my own. In slow motion, I saw my paint splatted hand upend a box of grape tomatoes, and out of the corner of my eye, watch it plummet to the ground. Stupid gravity.

But I was not to be waylaid, and continued to read the new, previously overlooked tomatoes. I read ‘Super Sweet,’ and new I had a winner. I heard the other tomatoes crash to the ground, and new I was a loser. The mom next to me looked down at the 92,000 grape tomatoes rolling around the floor like marbles and said, “Ooooh.”

Which I took to mean, sucks to be you.

Today, my feathers remained smooth and unruffled. I never once removed my eyes from the better tomato package and said in her direction, “Eh. Nothing to worry about.” In my head I said something along the lines of, crap.

The woman leaned over conspiratorially. “You know, you’re right. Someone will just clean it up. There’s usually two guys working this department, anyway.”

Except that I, unshackled from the bonds of sugar {ahem} did not wait for the pimply faced teenager to mope along with some broom or mop. Oh, no. Not I of boundless energy! Instead, I crawled along on my hands and knees and picked up every last inferior grape tomato and returned it to its plastic cage. Then I carried them to the register, and confessed to the 22 year old working the register.

Forgive me Father, for I have sinned. Here are your tomatoes.

The 22 year old was remarkably alert. Instead of slowly rolling glazed eyes in my direction as I was expecting, he enthusiastically thanked me for my penance. I stood a little taller, and hoped everyone in line was listening. He went on and on about how regular customers would just let the tomatoes roll about the floor, and perhaps roll their cart over a few when they thought no one was looking.

I nodded my head in understanding, the weight of all the hot air inside making it all the easier to move it gently up and down.

I thought VONS should reward me for being such a very good customer. Perhaps a free bag of groceries? He suggested I run my VONS card and see what happens.

The brie was 20% off. I’ll take it.

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