Please Put It Back, Judy

My favorite place to shop for groceries is Albertson's on 57th Ave. It's less than a mile from my house, the produce department is decent, the pharmacy employees know me by name, and everyone who works there is extremely friendly, especially Judy.

Judy lives in this neighborhood, and back when I was training for triathlons, I would often run past her house. Every time I would go to the grocery store she would say, “I saw you running past my house today. You looked great! Are you training for another race?”

At that time I was and I could bask in my own glory and say, “Well, yes. This next one coming up is the New York City Nautica triathlon. I think I'm ready, but I'll just keep pushing until race day. It’s the national finals for the physically challenged team, so I’m hoping to do well.”

“Wow,” she'd say. “You're such an inspiration.”

By now, the real reason why I shop that Albertson's should be abundantly clear. Judy constantly strokes my ego and makes me feel like a superstar.

Recently, however, I quit running because of the pregnancy and started packing on pounds. Now, exercise for me consists of getting up from my desk, walking to the fridge to make a ham sandwich, and walking back to my desk to sit and eat it. Exercise might also include jumping in my car to drive to Albertson's for more food.

A few days ago, while pushing my cart through the produce section, I got a craving for, you guessed it, a berry filled Hostess pie. All I had in my cart at the time were bananas. The Hostess section of the store was all the way at the other side, and I passed many other tempting aisles as I made my way toward the Twinkies, Ding Dong's, and Snowballs.

What's this? The baking aisle? I took a sharp left, and grabbed a box of Double Fudge Brownie mix off of the shelf and placed it gingerly next to the bananas. A quick U-turn and I was back out into the main aisle, heading right for the Hostess End Cap. Target in sight. But what would it be today? Cherry or Berry? “Go with what you know,” I thought and I snatched up the berry pie and placed it in the baby seat of my shopping cart.

Since I was so close to the freezer section, I figured I better go see what kinds of new creamy and delicious masterpieces Ben & Jerry were putting out. On my way there, I had a little mental conversation with myself about getting my sugar addiction under control AFTER this shopping spree.

In the freezer section, I scanned all of the flavors and realize that I'm not so much a fan of the ice cream, as much as I am of the pastries. I zeroed in on the ice cream sandwiches. Fluffy chocolate pastry, surrounding yummy vanilla goodness – AND a box of 12 was on sale for $2.50. I opened the cooler, reached in, grabbed the box, and placed it at the bottom of my cart, carefully arranging the bananas on top of the box, so as to show my priority for health. With that, I made my way towards the checkout.

Judy was the only cashier working that afternoon. Suddenly I felt ashamed. What would Judy think of me now, with all of this trash in my shopping cart? Only the pharmacists knew that I was pregnant. If they were to see my cart, they would smile approvingly. When Judy sees my cart, she will think I have given up on myself.

I began to unload my items and looked at the back wrapper of the Hostess fruit pie. Twenty grams of fat? Oh my God. I can’t buy this. I placed it on the moving counter, next to the package of brownie mix, ice cream sandwiches, and bananas and scanned the curious look on Judy's face.

“Oh jeez, Judy,” I said. “Will you pull that Hostess pie and brownie mix off of there? Send them back for me, please?”

“Having a sweet tooth attack?” asked Judy.

“I'm pregnant,” I said, relieved that I could give an excuse for my weight gain. "I'm pregnant and I'm bottomless."  It was like going to confession.  Obviously, my weight gain had nothing to do with the thousands and thousands of calories that were making their way toward her on the moving countertop and was really all about pregnancy, instead.

“So, are you still running?” she asked, “Because come to think of it I haven't seen you come by the house lately.”

“I haven't been running,” I admitted with some degree of shame. “I try and walk a lot, though.”

She reached over as my brownie mix and frosted fruit pie made their way down the motorized counter toward her hands, grabbed them, and set them behind her. She probably also saw the look of longing in my eyes, as I stretched my neck to watch her hide them from my gaze behind her body.

“Well, I'll keep an eye out for you and if I see you walking by my house, I'll come out and bring you some water,” she says encouragingly.

“That's sweet of you, Judy,” I say. “But if you see me walking by your house, and if you have it, could you just bring me some pie?”