Never is Here Again

I say way too many famous last words. I speak in hyperbole and I like it. Other than the amount of crow I have to eat. The best trick I’ve discovered for that is simply not admitting that I was wrong. No wrong, no crow.

Shortly before I moved to the city, someone mentioned that I should get my groceries delivered. I quickly shot down that idea. I love going to the market. I find it relaxing. (Sadly, this is true. I’m a born domestic.) I’ll have no problem popping into the store every other day for a few things.

Yesterday (aka day 13 in the new place), I placed my first online grocery order. I could blame this turnaround on any number of things. The most obvious is that my favorite credit card made me an offer I really couldn’t refuse. Another contributing factor is my excessive love of ginger ale. Nothing wrong with that love in and of itself, but I’ve just started to realize how heavy that nectar is. The other thing I’ve noticed is that the most convenient time for me to stop in the store is on my way home from work. Sounds brilliant, right? Until you realize that the aisles in these stores aren’t even wide enough for full-sized shopping carts, let alone full-sized humans with laptops in backpacks. The logistics just weren’t working.

I have no idea if the delivery thing will become a regular occurrence in my domestic life. But right now, I’m really looking forward to someone bringing all that Canada Dry right to my door.