A Mommy Story

Grocery shopping on a weekend is never a wise venture. But food was needed, and so off I went to pick up our necessities this afternoon. It’s been raining all day, and I wanted to get groceries before it changed into snow, when Ohio drivers lose all ability to control their cars,

I had no idea what I was getting myself into. First, the parking lot was packed. There were people waiting to take handicapped spaces. I should have turned back at this point, but for once a spot opened up for me very close to the entrance, so not wanting to turn down a parking gift from the gods, I took it.

Inside, it was chaos. Check-out lines stretching back into the aisles, aisles packed with people, screaming children, yelling adults. All of the carts available were soaking wet. I cut my list down to just the necessities, and tried to navigate upstream as best I could.

Once in the checkout line, I mentioned to the cashier, “Wow, this place is crazy today!”

“Well, yeah. Everyone is trying to get food for their parties.”

“Parties? I didn’t realize this was a big party weekend.”

“Uh, yeah. It’s Superbowl weekend. They’re getting food for Superbowl parties.”

“Ooooohhhhh.”

I may be the only idiot in the United States who didn’t realize it was Superbowl weekend. I felt like the biggest loser nerd walking out of the grocery. I wondered if there was a big neon sign over my head proclaiming “Geek! Likes science and literature, not sports!”

See, I guess I’m not your normal red-blooded American. I don’t care about football. I really don’t care about the Superbowl, either. Sure, if it’s on and nothing else is on, I’ll watch the commercials, but that’s about it.

It didn’t occur to me that people throw huge Superbowl parties. Most Americans go to big Superbowl and college bowl bashes, bet on the games and discuss the reputations of each team and its players.

Aaron and I, on the other hand, throw Oscar and Tony parties where we all bet on who will win each category and critique the fashion disasters on the red carpet.

Sometimes I feel like I belong somewhere else other than Midwestern America. I just don’t know where.