last night, at the end of a very long day of re-writes and very boring statistical data work i dragged myself to my local wholefoods. the logic goes like this: i love this a russian bakery – they make amazing breads, very rough peasant breads, redolent of harsher times. the ladies who are behind the counter are middle aged, wear too much make-up, have thick accents and are only occasionally friendly, and when the shop owner is in teh store, they try to grffly push you to buy eggplant salad and more bread. they also make amazing sweet poppy seed danishes, strudels, and other sweet concoctions. it would be very very bad to leave the house with the express and exclusive intention of buying russian carbs. but morally i can accept dropping in to the bakery on my way out from wholefoods, which is next door.
that is how i happened to be in line at wholefoods behind a guy in a suit, a young-ish guy (late 20’s maybe) in a decent suit with decent shoe and good haircut, buying a ready-made pb&j sandwich and a bottle of oj for dinner. he said so to the cashier.
whatever the circumstances of his pre-packed pb&j dinner, i realized that i can make myself a pb&j sandwich whenever i want to.
that made me stupidly happy.
and then i bought a poppyseed danish.