Thursday, February 7, 2008
Coleslaw: The New Crack
For dinner last night, I ate one beef hot dog (made from antibiotic-free cow that spent unbound life frolicking on Otis Family Farm before being heartlessly slaughtered for my pleasure) and a bucket of coleslaw.
Some sit down and devour a pint of ice cream. When I was pregnant with Stryker, I once at an entire roasted chicken during the drive home from the grocery store--yes, John was driving. He still marvels at the amazing magical powers of the pregnant woman.
But this is different.
I fell hard for Mississippi Market's coleslaw. Love at first sniff! This is no ordinary slaw, no pedestrian slather of mayo and chemical goo. Mayonnaise doesn't even top the list of ingredients--here we have cabbage, carrot, onion. Apple cider vinegar, pepper, sea salt.
Who can explain? It's some karmic constellation that's imprisoned me.
This is the new physiology of my marriage. Me, calling John on his cell: "How's your day going, sweetie?"
John: "I'm not going to Mississippi Market."
Me (offense, taken!): "I actually called just to say hi."
John: "I'm not in St. Paul. I'm in the suburbs. . . . uh, Golden Valley."
Me: "No you're not."
John: "I'm not going to that store again. We go every single day."
Me: "I hear footsteps. You're at the office."
John: "We go every day."
Me: "But you're four blocks away! That's why we go every day."
John: "No, that's how. Why is different."
Me: "Why is we like our coleslaw fresh and creamy. It makes the household happier, if you know what I mean."
John (with zero joy): "Fine. I'll do it."
Not even cost matters. Last night's bucket set me back nearly 10 dollars! You heard that. At my natural foods store, the fine organic ingredients are first doused in Holy Water and then blessed by the Dalai Lama. In Paris.
Cabbage for the cost of a bottle of wine? I told you: the situation is serious.
Today, I went to Mississippi Market for more. The cashier who had rung through my groceries the day before had no one in her line. I hesitated. What if she recognized me? Suspected my weakenss?
But, there's that perpetual hurry in which I live - children to be picked up and duties done. Reason prevailed--it's just coleslaw, after all. This is legal! All these people--why would she even remember me?
And as the cashier slid my stash across that electronic register, she arched an eyebrow, just so--nuance, knowledge, depth and pity--and said: "We really like our coleslaw, don't we?"