Sunday afternoon @ the grocery store.

Produce department: I’m looking for raw ingredients to make a recipe that one of our Pug Rescue vets said is great for dogs with upset bellies. I was awoken Saturday morning to some serious gurgling and swishing noises next to my pillow, creeks and eeks that sounded like a haunted house emanating from Pugsley’s stomach.

The recipe calls for Free Range Chicken (no antibiotics or unnatural fillers)
1 sweet potato
1 regular potato
1 turnip.
Boil all ingredients and mash together for happy pug tummy.

FYI – If you’ve never prepared a waxed turnip before you have to chisel your way into it with a butcher knife and a hammer.

I stop at the starchy row with all the potatoes, yams, onions, rutabagas, and squash. I find my turnip and regular potato but I don’t see a sweet potato, only yams. I track down a produce clerk and we get into this lengthy debate about the difference between a yam and a sweet potato. He insists there is no difference except for the color. If that’s true though, why do they have different names? I ask him if he’s sure and explain the recipe I’m making is for my sick dog and the vet specifically said “sweet potato” so I have to be sure the same nutritional content that’s in one is in the other. He finally convinces me to get the yam that there is really no difference. I tell him my dog might notice the difference but I’ll take his word. He was cute.

Right out of the gate I see someone who looks vaguely familiar but I can’t quite place them. I notice this happens more and more the older I get. One of the hazards I suppose, of living as an adult in the same town where you grew up. Always running into people from your past who sort of look familiar by face but you can’t recall their name. This happens to me a lot. Why? People change, some dramatically in appearance over time to the point where there is some small hint of the person you still have in your head from 15 years ago but not enough to approach them. What if you call them the wrong name? What if they’ve gained a lot of weight and you think they may be pregnant and want to congratulate but aren’t sure if you should or not. These situations are always uncomfortable. Instead it’s a shy but quizzical smile and keep on moving.

Aisle 3 is the candy aisle. I see a young flustered mom trying to control her squealing baby and unruly toddler. He wants candy and can't be made to understand that he isn't getting any. She looks totally frazzled and would be the perfect "real person" actress for a “Calgon Take Me away” commercial. I feel bad for her. I hate to admit it, but I’m glad it isn’t me and I push on with my cart.

I have a system when I go shopping. I start out in produce, next stop deli counter, then I hit the seafood and meats, work my way down one aisle and then up the next. Sometimes I linger reading labels or checking the best cuts of meat almost in an anal fashion so I keep running into the same people on different aisles.

It’s really crowded on the weekends too. I’m pushing my cart along waiting for the person in front of me to move when the lady behind me is being pushed too and she rams her cart into my heels! I buckle over for a minute.

I breeze through the next couple aisles picking up my staple items. Splenda for my coffee, 90% lean ground beef, turkey bacon. After questioning the meat lady in a similar fashion as I grilled the produce clerk, I find my Free Range Chicken breast for Pugsley’s special dinner.

By the time I’ve sailed through 4 more aisles -- said unruly toddler from aisle 3 is now on aisle 7 and he’s just smashed a jar of spaghetti sauce all over the floor.

Intercom – Clean up on Aisle 7!!

I am trying not to stare at the mortified mother because she must already feel like everyone in that store is putting her under a microscope. I am busy fingering whole wheat pastas and reading labels to make sure they are 100% whole wheat. Clever packaging can fool you into thinking you are buying a whole wheat product but if you read the label carefully, you see things like “Enriched wheat” “Durum wheat” “Whole wheat blend”. I only buy it if the first ingredient on the label says “100% Whole Wheat”.

Coming at me I see a Disabled man with HUGE Great Dane escorting him down the aisle. These dogs are trained to guide their masters and they are committed to their tasks. Unfortunately, the dog gets a whiff of the spaghetti sauce that’s on the floor still waiting for clean-up. He tries to lick it up. I was impressed though that after a quick command from his owner, he kept on moving despite the delectable temptations before him.

They tell you never to approach a guide dog or try to pet him because it may distract from doing his job. Instead I smile at the man and give a head bob of acknowledgement, also not sure if he’s blind or what his handicap actually is. The man approaches me asking what I think of the wheat pasta as opposed to regular.

"Well, it’s better for you especially if you have digestive issues like me. There is more fiber and good carbohydrates so it won’t spike your glycemic index. The texture is grainier than regular pasta and takes a little bit to get used to but you do acquire a taste for it. Your dog is beautiful by the way" and right there on Aisle 7 I start petting a Great Dane and telling him how handsome and what a good boy he is.

Next up is the health and beauty section where I see a husband and wife with a little baby in the front of the cart. Awwww. She is busy studying the numerous personal hygiene items. He looks bored and immediately looks down into a cart that is filled with diapers and Kotex pads. He looks so embarrassed! I feel bad for him but have to chuckle to myself on the inside. LOL. Men are like fish out of water in the supermarket.

Finally, I make it to the checkout. In front of me is a woman who is wearing a t-shirt with a Pekinese on it. I am wearing a Pug shirt from our store. I always gravitate towards the dog people and vice versa. We talk in line about our two favorite breeds. Pekes and Pugs are distant cousins. It’s been said that they used the Peke to breed the Pug so long ago. I tell her I’m not happy that the Pekes always beat the Pugs at all the big dog shows. We start talking about the perils of breeding and I inevitably, I launch into my Puggle rhetoric giving her an earful.

Some people HATE going to the grocery but I actually think its fun. An opportunity to observe and exchange brief pleasantries with a stranger or maybe your neighbor or a quick knowing glance at someone from your past. At the end you get to go home with a full stock of fresh meats, juices, and sundries. Grocery shopping is like a 3-ring circus....the only thing missing was the popcorn and peanuts.