Tuesday, November 15, 2005

Tales of the north

Straight on.

Profile.

Boxy butt.

I picked her up last Wednesday. 2004 Forester, 20,000 miles, heated seats (!), no sun roof but many power things. Second-hand's come a long way since granddad's hand-me-down Dodge Dart - the bane of Boston winters, embarrassment of my childhood.

Our maiden voyage was from Ruge's Subaru to Rhinebeck's Super Stop & Shop. I felt a fraud as I parked her by the cart return, a suburban imposter as I cruised the aisles and shopped in a way the city never allowed, or encouraged: a fridge-dispensing case of diet coke with lime that wouldn't have fit in my tiny city fridge, Bounty multi-packs, vegetable, chicken and beef stock because I believe I will, one day, prepare a soup from scratch, massive bags of frozen vegetables. I filled the cart's bottom rack, I debated on laundry detergents, I bought toilet papers enough for two bathrooms.

Enormous supermarket + shopping cart (v. basket) + a station wagon in the lot + house = makes me want to buy in bulk, encourages me to stockpile for a siege, pushed me to buy "basics" that some primal pastoral sense tells me every home owner should have.

Pantry fill.

No one in the Super Stop & Shop that evening called me out as a fraud. Unmolested, un-noticed actually, I checked out - applied for my Super Savings card - and wheeled my house booty into the lot.

And then me and her, the silver siren - drove our groceries home.

C - teller of suburban tales

2 comments:

john said...

don't you be bad-mouthing Dodge Darts now!

cintra said...

I never thought I'd see the day! Will I recognize you when I return from Arg.?