While grocery shopping, after we'd driven ten miles in search of a Wegman's that was supposedly in the next mile or two, from Mom: ``Do you need any more Diet Coke? We could get something to drink.'' No, we're fine. We've got three and a half of those twelve 12-oz can packs, and even at a reasonably high rate of drinking that will take a while to finish off. A few minutes later, from Dad: ``Do you want to pick up any twelve-can packs of Diet Coke?'' No, thank you, I'm doing all right.
As we played with the deli counter's touch-screen ordering system, I mentioned we should get some salami. ``Your father said we had some left over.'' I explained that I was certain he firmly believed there was salami in the house. Mom and Dad have this curious belief that there is some left over of every food item ever brought into the house, which makes for entertaining lunches when they've gone off with both cars and the actual contents of the fridge are orange juice just a little past the expiration date, condiments, and several acres of plastic wrappings around single discs of Canadian bacon, leftover broccoli, and a single disc of Fleming's Own many-wheat pita bread. We got some salami.
Somewhere around the Cheez-its aisle Mom asked if I was sure we didn't need any more Diet Coke. No, we've still got as much as we had ten minutes ago. Dad pointed out we were running out of Sabrett's hot dogs, so if I wanted to keep having them we should buy some more. It's true that we're running out of Sabrett's hot dogs, in much the same way the Sun is running out of hydrogen. At this point, though, I give in, and get a (single, eight-dog) pack of Sabrett's. And a twelve-pack of soda. Diet Dr Pepper.
I wonder what it's like to not shop passive-aggressively.
And a happy birthday, more or less, to Isaac Asimov, the patron demon to people who know on which end of the sentence to put the period and who can go on at specified length about near any subject by the deadline, but can't quite figure out how to turn that skill into something for which they receive money. (If there are patron saints, it's only fair for there to be patron demons, isn't it?)
Trivia: Isaac Asimov's short story ``The Weapon'' appeared in the May 1942 Super Science with the pseudonym ``H B Ogden'', which was chosen for no reason and by no method he could later identify. Source: In Memory Yet Green, Isaac Asimov.
Currently Reading: Know-It-All, A J Jacobs.