On The Market

It's true, I get a little too attached to places that treat me like a human being.  Give me a place where the people smile and act happy to see me and I will keep coming back.  I like to feel special.  I like to feel loved and adored and worshipped on every level, especially when I go to the market.  I spend a huge portion of my life looking at produce, evaluating the merits of a decent banana or a nice melon.  I study the strawberries and wonder when they're going to turn on me.  I take my time with the tomatoes.  I hover over the poultry like a mother hen.  I research my options.  Bone or boneless?  Tender is the chicken?  These are the questions that define my existence.  I need a pretty environment to do my work in, people.  I'm not talking about my office.  Please.  It's the Bermuda Triangle in there.  Enter with caution.  I'm talking about my market.  My Gelson's, the fancy-schmancy market I frequent for very personal reasons.  Fine, maybe they're not so personal.

I can't deal with other markets.  I require spiritual guidance and life coaching before I step into Crappy-Ass Pavilions.  This is a market you don't want to know from.  I get agitated in Crappy-Ass Pavilions.  I need a pep talk before I go to Trader Joe's.  I need a tranquilizer to negotiate the parking lot and the lines and the fact that nothing is ever where I expect it to be.  I need to channel my hippy place before I go to Whole Foods.  I have to act healthy and centered and Zen-like in there. I'm none of those things.  I have to pretend I care about organic food.  I don't.  But if I want the grilled salmon that's to die for, I have to go to the place hubby calls Whole Paycheck.

Aw, but Gelson's.  My Gelson's.  I don't get nervous in Gelson's.  I get hap-hap-happy.  I feel peace and tranquility.  So what if things cost a little more?  I'm worth it.  I'd rather go to Gelson's than back into therapy.  Gelson's is a mental health requirement.  What part of this rant aren't you getting?  There's only so much aggravation the SJG can take in one lifetime.  In Gelson's, I'm a celebrity.  In those other markets, I'm nobody.  So.  Why am I telling you this?  The world is falling apart, as we speak, and I'm worried about a market.  Did I say worried?  More like panic-stricken.  This morning's news informs me that my beloved, overpriced Gelson's may be on the market.   As in up for sale.  As in adios, nice market.  Hello, sub-par replacement.  This can't happen.  To me.  I get a little too attached to places that treat me like a human being.  But then, you already know that.