*from my six year-old daughter’s coloring book “city mouse/country mouse”
There are a lot of things that have made me uncomfortable about having transitioned into adulthood. These things are primarily, but not entirely exclusive of; dress-code, sugar intake, sleep patterns, and the fact that not understanding daylight savings time makes you fundamentally less functional or intelligent. However, the absolute winner of things I despise about adulthood, petty as it seems, is the creation of Whole Foods market. For the record, Whole Foods is PepsiCo. It’s just a different consumer market base, and it frustrates me deeply that I am the only one willing to acknowledge this. I absolutely adore the people running around claiming they couldn’t live without Whole Foods. “God, where would we ever find wholesome, healthy meals, in the absence of Whole Foods?” It’s called a kitchen; that’s where people used to make food, but now we purchase it at overinflated prices, so we can socialize. You might be familiar with this concept; it’s called Starbucks. Yes, I understand that it’s not appropriate to siphon diet coke into your eighteen month-old by way of a feeding device meant to simulate a human breast, but do we really have to counteract that with crap like Whole Foods? This is just a place for people who like the grocery store, and I have a fundamental distrust for anyone who enjoys grocery shopping. I was raised the good old fashion way, with the understanding that the only people who loiter at grocery stores are delinquents, firemen, the retired, and perverts. Perhaps it’s an oversight on my part that when I look at bag of grapes I say, “oh, a bag of grapes; how tasty” rather than,” I’m going to buy these overpriced grapes instead, because these grapes would never cut the education budget, or support the NRA, or vote Bush in for a second term.” When I see grapes, I see grapes and when I pay for grapes I intend on paying for grapes, not the history of oversights on the part of mortal man post-flood. I personally would rather supply the price difference to the fixture alcoholic outside the 7-11 down the road then pay twelve bucks for a bag of grapes and have a cashier, who I’m not sure believes in bathing, because it removes potentially essential oils from the hair root, touch my fruit. I’m not having it. And I’m certainly not paying more for it. If it is politics you’re interested in, it’s been my experience that the inebriated man in front of a circle K is more than willing to talk about the government.
