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Shaws Was Not a War Zone

All the locals know we’re expecting “Death Storm 2009” tomorrow. Or maybe “Sprained Ankle Storm 2009”. Something ominous. Something that looks flashy on the news. Operation Snowflake? I’ll keep working on that.

As a rule, if snow is forecast, the grocery stores are ransacked for French toast ingredients (milk, bread, eggs – issues formal French Toast alerts. I use the UH warning system to determine whether or not it’s time to stock up on syrup.

As usual, we haven’t done the weekly shopping yet, and we were out of half and half, an unacceptable situation. Even though we’re at red alert, I have to have coffee in the morning or my address will be in the news by tomorrow night.

I dragged Birthday Boy to the store. On the way, he says I’m only allowed to buy 10 or fewer things so we can go through the fast line. This old game. Sure. I tell him that I will only be buying three things and then we keep picking up more and more stuff and he gets annoyed with me but I am such a great actress I can pretend that I had every intention of only buying three things when I know that is not the case. I deserve an award of some kind.

The parking lot was empty. The store was neat as a pin [what the he’ll does THAT mean?] and fully stocked. Should I assume everyone got an updated weather bulletin. Oh, and for the record – 10 items exactly, and I didn’t even have to count the buy one get one free English muffins as a single item. Of course, that means I did not get to emote. Maybe next time.