I finish writing a long and detailed post, only to have it vanish into midair when Blogger freezes. Fantastic. I need to relax, after all, it's just a blog. It's not the end of the world. The following is my attempt to recreate what I have been writing over the past two hours.

I love the grocery store, but I am about the worst person to send to buy food alone. I rush to the supermarket because we don't have a backup can of anchovies, and I come back with 4 pounds of turkey sausage, a package of pork chops, 6 different types of rice and two bags of frozen shrimp, none of which I plan to serve in the immediate future. My freezer contains enough meat and fish to make up a small farm and fishery. Needless to say my cabinets contain an orgy of canned vegetables, fruits, beans, meats, and coconut milk. I am always prepared for a weeks worth of delicious meals. Try me.

Anyway, while at the grocery store yesterday, I made my way over to the bakery to satisfy my husband's carbohydrate craving with some fresh bagels. I could see from afar that they were on sale 3 for .99 cents. Hurrah! I love when things are on sale, especially when they are on my shopping list. On my way to the bagel bins I was cut off by a large older Polish-looking man in a dirty jumpsuit who parked himself smack dab in the middle of the aisle, creating a bakery road block. I grabbed a plastic bag and waited. I watched in awe as he displayed a blatant lack of respect for health and cleanliness by fondling and squeezing each and every sesame bagel in the bin. I quickly decided that fresh bagels were no longer on my list and threw my plastic bag to the side, made a grunt of disgust to match the look on my face, and prepared to quickly leave the bakery area. However, I misjudged the space he had left me to maneuver through and promptly hit a table stacked high with boxes of banana nut muffins. As more than a dozen boxes hit the floor with a crash I recoiled in horror and embarrassment. To show the Polish bagel squeezer the meaning of courtesy, I bent down to pick up my mess (luckily none of the boxes came open to spill clean fresh muffins on the floor.) I looked up as I placed the last box carefully back on the table, only to hear a grunt of disgust paired with the same look on the face of Mr. Bagel Molester as he swept past me with his cart, which happened to be absent of any newly tainted bagels. Life is just not fair at the grocery store.

Hubb and I had a delicious dinner last night consisting of whitefish with an olive, anchovy and tomato relish, creamy parmesan risotto and steamed broccoli. I carry a souvenir of this meal with me today in the form of a fish bone stuck in my throat. This is paired with the new blister on my left hand from absent-mindedly touching the broiler pan, which matches the new scar forming on my right forearm from an encounter with a roasting pan last week. I should be locked away alone with a room temperature liquid diet.

This increasing accident-proneness is starting to worry me. I have tried to wreck my car each and every time it has snowed here this season. I keep successfully managing to lose control and fish-tail, once spinning a complete 180 in the middle of Sheridan Road. We are supposed to get 2-6 inches tonight, and I am worried about what my drive to work tomorrow might bring. I have no choice but to come in, with my coworker out I am left to manage our department by myself. I have been told to buy 50 pound bags of sand for my trunk to make my lightweight plastic Volkswagen as heavy as a real car, but I have a problem paying for something that is readily available on the beach near my house, (albeit underneath two feet of snow.) Maybe I should free up some room in my freezer and store all of those bags of shrimp, chicken, fish, sausage, and pork chops in the trunk of my car until the snow and ice has thawed. Or maybe I should just leave it empty because another uncontrolled spinning may dislodge this fish bone in my esophagus.