Another Grocery Store Moment

What is it about the grocery store and strangers who comment on my food choices? I was at the store today wandering the produce section when a bearded man approached me shaking his head sadly.

"Miss, Miss," he said, in some sort of European accent. "What are you doing?"

I had no idea what he was talking about. Was the baby throwing food on the floor?

"All this diet soda," he said, gesturing to my cart. "You should Google the ingredients. Aspartame, it causes all the sickness in the world."

"Well, she doesn't drink it," I said, lamely. "I do."

"She will. Children, they learn."

"Yeah, well she won't be drinking it until she gets a job and buys it herself," I snapped and pushed the cart away.

I get it. Aspartame is not the best stuff in the world. But you know what? Neither are overly opinionated Europeans who accost strangers in the produce section. I may drink diet soda, but at least I wear deodorant.

Make Snopes Your Friend

All right, the Internet has been around awhile. It's 2006. Civilized people have high speed connections and even grandmothers have e-mail addresses. So, why, why am I still getting chain letters? Why are people still sending me alarmist forwards? People, stop believing everything you read online!

Case in point: A friend who has been online at least since 1994 sent me something about carjackers putting leaflets on windshields. I couldn't believe this nonsense was coming from someone who was born the same year as I. So I sent back the link from Snopes that debunked the story and haven't heard from her since.

I'm thinking of making a link to Snopes my signature so that it goes out on every e-mail I send. But then, I'm kind of over signatures, too.

It Does a Body Good

I was at the grocery store, reaching into the dairy case to get a jug of 2%, when a woman came up beside me and frowned at the case.

"There's no 1%," she said, distressed, looking at the empty gallon row. Then she noticed the organic 1% milk. "Oh, organic, " she sniffed, dismissing the option.

I removed my jug of 2% and placed it in my cart. I turned to continue my shopping, but she stopped me.

"You know, I can't get 2%. There's waaay too much fat. You might as well drink whole milk." And with that, she pushed her cart to the next aisle.

First, um, did I ask for commentary on my milk selection, oh dairy obsessed stranger? I think not.

Second, when the milk case has no gallons of the desired milk, perhaps one should purchase *gasp* two half gallons instead?

But then, my opinion can't be trusted. All that fat from my 2% milk has obviously addled my brain.

Waxing Poetic

I'm fond of pedicures. The world is just easier to face with shiny red toenails, and no one pampers my feet like a professional. However, many nail salons these days have branched out beyond beautifying hands and feet and now offer other services, most notably, waxing.

I've never been opposed to waxing - for other people. I prefer less violent hair removal techniques, but for women with a high tolerance for pain (and yes, you liars, it does hurt) waxing is an efficient way to go. I'm all about efficiency. But here's the thing about these self titled aestheticians, they're predators.

This is the way it usually goes: I'm sitting blissfully in the vibrating chair, flipping through whatever trashy celebrity magazine happens to be handy, when the woman tending to my toes decides to make conversation.

She fixes me with an appraising frown and asks, "You want your eyebrows waxed?"

The first time this happened, I was startled. Was there something unsightly about my eyebrows as they were? I tweeze as necessary to prevent monobrow, and hairs that grow where eyebrows have no right to be are plucked regularly. Perhaps they are not plucked by professionals, but I like to think of my brows as at least well groomed.

"Um, no thank you," I answered. Hot wax, especially when the face is involved, was not something I could leap into on the spur of the moment.

However, after witnessing a fellow bridesmaid's eyebrow waxing during a pre-wedding trip to the spa, I was became less fearful of the concept. She looked fabulous when she was done, if a bit red. The bride was enamoured with the result and wanted hers done as well, but the waxer showed excellent business savvy and said that there was no way on earth that she would wax a bride the day before her wedding. I chose not to take the leap then, but vowed to remain open to the idea in the future.

Open minded as I now am, I still haven't acquiesced to the come-ons at the nail salon. Whenever I'm asked, I take a good look at the eyebrows of the person doing the asking. Inevitably, they are waxed into oblivion and then redrawn with pencil so as to trick observers into overlooking the four lonely hairs left where an eyebrow once stood. Should I let someone with that standard as the ideal of eyebrow beauty near my face with hot wax?

Would you?

Suds

It seems only fitting that a bar of Lava soap sits in the soapdish in the women's room at the DMV.

Better to Light a Single Candle

I've forgotten now exactly how it was that I came across the candles at www.gratefulness.org. I only recall how the idea intrigued me. These past few years I've had a nasty habit of forgetting lit candles, of leaving the house and running errands, returning to find a candle burning on my coffee table. By the grace of God, the house still stands. I banned myself from burning candles when I'm alone in the house.
Virtual candles don't make my house smell like apple pie, but the cat can't knock them over, either. I'll take the lack of bakery scents over the possibility of flaming curtains any day.
Practicioners of religions the world over use candles as tangible signs of prayer; now they can do so without leaving their homes. Practicalities aside, the beauty of the site isn't in the pixelated flames, it's in the message attached to the candles. Users are invited to take a deep breath, compose their thoughts, and focus on the reasons behind lighting the wick. As of this writing, the site tells me that "6,943 candles from 111 countries are shining." Reading through these messages gives a glimpse of the concerns of humanity. This Thursday night a few clicks show me that someone in the Philippines is worried about the exchange rate of the yen. A woman in the US misses her mother, who died of ovarian cancer. People the world over are praying for peace in Iraq.
More intriguing than these, however, are the candles without messages. Some have intials, some have countries of origin listed, but no words to tell you why the candles are lit. I guess some prayers are so urgent that they must be expressed but at the same time so private they can't be shared.
When you have a quiet moment, visit the candle site. Even if you don't feel compelled to offer a prayer of your own, maybe you will feel the urge to do as the site suggests, and "look at messages left by others and hold their concerns in your heart..."

Does a Bear Sh*t in the Woods?

Just ask Charmin.

Okay, folks, I can accept that toilet paper is a universal need. I can accept that advertisers work hard to make their product stand out. However, is it my imagination, or have toilet paper ads gotten grosser over the last few years? It used to be the creepy little Quilted Northern quilters who irked me. Sadly, each successive ad with the Charmin bears forces me to recall fondly the days of animated quilters and discussions of lint.

I really don't know what makes me queasier: the images of bears using the great outdoors as their commode, or the horrifying question of what they do with the toilet paper after they use it. Really. Play out those commercials to their logical end and you come up with a not so pristine forest floor. Sure, the animated toilet paper hangs nicely over the branch, but, uh, where does it go from there, Charmin?

Really, what would Woodsy say?