Why does chocolate chip cookie dough and Cherry Garcia ice cream seem to make everything better? Or at least hold the world at bay long enough for us to figure out what's going on in our lives (or give us enough time to see what in our closet will actually fit and weep over what doesn't).
I was having one of those days and heading toward the dairy case in search of the Pillsbury section. A young lady was walking down the aisle talking on her cell phone asking if she needed to bring home one or two gallons of ice cream. Then I noticed that her "skinny" jeans were loose around her thighs. Really? Some of us have never known the luxury of skinny jeans. (That alone was reason enough to seek solace in sugary treats.)
I picked up the cookie dough to soothe my soul and paranoia set in. Surely everyone in the store wasn't looking at me - or what I had in my hand. Certainly folks buy cookie dough to make cookies, don't they? As I passed an end cap with party supplies on it, I picked up a pack of pink plates and coordinating napkins - just to make my other purchase more legitimate. A young store clerk walked up and said, "Mam, you know all that (pointing to the display of party supplies) is buy one get one free." "No, I didn't know that. Thank you."
I smiled as I went back and picked up my additional party pieces. Then he added, "And, don't forget the matching cups on aisle four." As I was standing there trying to avoid adding the cups to my arm load, a gray haired lady stopped me. "Oh, you're making cookies?" "I am." (Just a little white lie - a matter of timing - I'm sure I will sometime in the future.) "If you're having a party, you have to have ice cream." "Oh, ice cream. I knew I forgot something." (Was I loosing my mind?) "As I reached for a container of Cherry Garcia, the lady said, "I think vanilla would go better with the cookies."
By the time I got to the checkout, I had my arms full of plates, napkins, ice cream, and the cookie dough - and my dignity. Now, I had to figure out how to justify getting all this in the house. Usually, I was dealing with the guilt of cookie dough, now I was having to explain why I had come home with the all the makings of a party with no gala planned. Ah, what a tangled web we weave when we're just trying to hide a guilty pleasure.