Innergiggler's Blog

Posts Tagged ‘Trader Joe’s

I love summer fruits – cold, sweet, deliciousness squishing in my mouth, before  sliding down my throat.  Unfortunately, this summer I’ve had issues with the  watermelon.  I’ve had to return two – and there’s a third split in two halves just languishing in the refrigerator.  Should I return and replace?  They’re heavy…hmmm…

Off to Trader Joe’s last night, I’m still weighing the watermelon issue – when I notice a bin of watermelons screaming – “Eat me!  I’m sweet!”  right outside of TJ’s entrance.  So, I stop and reach into the bin, lift up a green-striped 3 or 4 pound egg-shaped melon, turn right to place it into my cart – whoops – my right foot gets caught on the platform jutting out from under the bin and clips my right foot – then thrusts me – still holding the watermelon – forward like an action hero.  I release the fruit, grab on to a pot of roses to fend off the fall – but THUD!  I crash hard – slamming my right butt cheek onto the cement.    

 Ohhh!  The pain, the embarrassment – as people gather around to watch – more pain – as the security guard tries lifting me up.  I hear onlookers sighing “Yikes” as they watch the guard pulling on my arms.  I eventually succumb to the lifting – immediately after he asks if I want the scattered watermelon. 

 I limp into the store, then reject their kind offer to put me in a hovaround  for accessing my shopping needs, fill out the accident report, then continue limping to my car, assisted by one of their customer service guys. 

Finally home, I call my husband who is busy at work – and who is also seriously fond of my butt cheeks, swallow two Naproxens, slide under the covers scratching my head – how did I lose a fight with a watermelon?  Well – hopefully the pain will be gone in the morning. 

Part  II – A visit to my doctor!

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Remember when Dionne Warwick sang  to us about a HOUSE not being a HOME?   “A chair is still a chair even when no one is sitting there.”  But I always wondered  –  if someone is lying, sitting, cooking, crapping in your place  – isn’t it still a home?  Even without the love Dionne craved?  How about self-love? 

These are the dumbest freaking lyrics on the planet – a chair is still a chair – an ottoman is still an ottoman  – a leg is still a leg – even if it’s covered with hair  – but a home without love is what?  A parakeet?  Don’t get me wrong   – Burt Bacharach & Hal David wrote some smoking tunes & lyrics – but having just forced myself to re-read the lyrics  – I got a lump in my throat – which I always get before I puke –

We have love in our apartment – but Rob and I both know if we don’t get out of here into a bigger home there’ll be no love – no marriage and only broken chairs which will still be broken chairs – and perhaps broken windows to boot.

So – Rob and I are headed for Westchester – that’s in Los Angeles County  – about  20 minutes from Santa Monica – my home for the last 13 years.  It’s unfamiliar – I don’t know where Ralph’s or Trader Joe’s or Vons is located – I don’t know the neighbors – don’t know if their houses are homes – but our new abode will be a home even when we can’t stand each other.  I’m sure of it!