People are always asking me, "Suburban, is it true that you once threw a box of strawberry-flavored Cheerios at your son in the grocery store?"
So I have no reason to confirm or deny any rumors surrounding the alleged incident. Except to say, hypothethically, there would have to have been a great deal of provocation behind such an act and 2. it's not possible to actually injure someone with a box of strawberry-flavored Cheerios.
I would rather live on lint than do the grocery shopping, but there's no getting around the fact that you can't serve lint without a pretty good bottle of wine and a pretty good bottle of wine calls for a decent selection of olives and before you know it, you're out of cheese. It's a slippery slope to the Cheerios aisle.
It's not just that the Midwestern grocery store experience is hellish in itself - crappy selection, a generous interpretation of "fresh" and cashiers who believe every transaction is a conversation starter - it's that the members of my family have managed to destroy any enthusiasm I ever had for the process of feeding them. I can hardly believe I am the same person who once bought cookbooks with titles like 100 Foods Your Kids Will Love.
Now I just try to get to the cash register without killing myself, or starting a food fight on aisle 3.
Their taste in food is terrible and expensive. They never stop complaining about their meal choices and they have zero appreciation for the effort. Or recipes from the New York Times dining section. In short, they do not deserve to be fed.
And yet, there I am week after week, trying to get to the end of a horror-novel of a grocery list and get out before anyone can try to start a conversation or force feed me a sample of ham.
My cart is piled with Teen Cuisine: Pop-Tarts, Cheerios, Goldfish crackers, salsa in the jar and low-quality sandwich bread - what they refer to as "real bread." Only the Greek olives stand between me and complete surrender.
There is no point in making any more of a stand than that in a world in which it is actually possible to subscribe to Pop-Tarts.
Related recipes: Nothing. It's what's for dinner