My yen and yang seem to swirl around food-stuffs.
This past week I, among other things, went grocery shopping and got taken out to dinner.
You know the stereotype of the slow moving grocery line caused by a coupon-clipper, paying with cash and exact-change, who doesn't begin to start rummaging for these items in her massive saddle-bag until she's verified a price-match for every item scanned and then made sure all the bags made it into the cart?
I fear that I might become that person.
Twice in the past week I've picked out items, checked them out, paid for them, and not gotten home with them.
I suspect it is because I always have the kids with me when I'm shopping and the clerk, bagperson, and myself are usually distracted with them being cute when it comes time to put the bags back into the cart.
The latest instance was milk.
I picked up six, paid for six, and only got four home into the fridge.
(half-gallons mind you, they were on sale and thus less expensive per volume than the full gallons.)
However, as cosmic balance, the Millionaire and his wife were in town and I got taken out to dinner.
Chicken Oscar at Merchant's upstairs dining room and 18 year old Macallan scotches.
I'm going to make the choice to be really happy about the meal out, the good booze, and the after show at Tootsie's.
After all, no point crying over milk you paid for but were too lame to remember to put in your cart, so your 2 year old could have spilled it when you got home anyway.