You mean all those groceries we stockpiled two weeks ago were
supposed to last through the spring?? We
still have the broccoli. The chocolate,
however, is gone.
Rita is flabbergasted that I managed to eat 5 candy bars over
the last 10 days, like a lack of self-control is new with this pandemic or
something. (I’m going to stop letting
Rita into my little college dorm room in the basement if she’s going to keep
inventorying everything in the fridge!
At some stage she’ll realize the beer count is inflated by the empties I
put back.) But it’s her fault
anyway. She bought these healthy (little!)
Peruvian chocolate/coffee nib bars that are made with magic shaman cocoa dust and
I think of them as pandemic vitamins. I mean, its at least as effective as hydroxychloroquine.
Rita said I was supposed to have a square of
chocolate each day. Who does that? Besides, people are buying toilet paper by
the pallet, so underconsumption is clearly not the goal here. I like to point out that my bingeing is almost
certainly creating a job for somebody.
Including the person who is going to make all my bigger clothes when
I eventually quit wearing sweatpants again.
Based on my habits to date, I appear interested in creating jobs in the potato
chip and pepperoni sectors of our economy.
(Essential is clearly in the eye of the beholder.)
In the interest of delaying my rendezvous with diabetes, I am
betting Rita’s next trip to the grocery store fails to yield another ration of
chocolate bars. She is probably still
going to bring me home a treat (because after me, her only live interaction will
be Tom Hanks’ friend Wilson), but I’m betting said treats will become
progressively less “treat-y” until we’re down to a tube of minty toothpaste as the
treat du jour.
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