I was playing around on the Internet and stumbled across the most hilarious poem by Shel Silverstein. It totally fits what’s going on in our crazy world:
When the Coronavirus hit hard back in March, I started getting grocery delivery. It was a good idea except for the fact that I live in a place that’s a bit hard to find. I’m in a condo complex that is a total maze. It’s great for safety – not so much for delivery. The first time I ordered groceries from Kroger, I had text communication with my shopper all the way up until they couldn’t find me…
Someone in my complex apparently got a plethora of quarantine snacks.
Another time I tried ordering, I decided it had been a while since I’d had the strawberry-frosted Pop-Tarts. I was so excited to get those Pop-Tarts. So excited to get them, in fact, that I forgot to uncheck the box that allows for substitutions. This is what I got instead:
I can’t even…
We began Phase 1 of our recovery. By Phase 2, I felt comfortable enough to go to the grocery a few times with my mask on, eyeing everyone suspiciously, keeping my distance, and basically feeling like a total fool while still scared the Covid-19 germ would leap from one body over to mine like a wandering tick looking for new blood.
Now that we’re faced with an uptick of cases, I’m back to grocery delivery for the most part. This whole business of having groceries delivered has turned me into a total boujee person.
I don’t even know this person who buys brioche buns. Who AM I?
I guess if the world is going crazy, there’s worse things to eat than organic grass-fed ground beef burgers on boujee brioche buns.