The grocery store closes at 9 PM. I zip through the red light and into the parking lot. I have a full schedule tomorrow, nothing without blue fuzzies on it in the refrigerator, and two hungry dogs at home circling their empty dog food bowls like vultures.

They’re not happy. I’m late with din-din.

Imagining I’ve just won a free grocery shopping spree, I speed through the automatic door at 8:56, grab a carriage, and stealthily sprint to the dairy aisle – hoping the cashiers are more adsorbed in the hunk stocking the sales display than me.

I figure I can hit dairy, meat, dog food, and produce, and be at the register by 9 PM.

Oh, can’t forget the ice cream.

At 9:05 I get to the register. I’m at the mercy of a glaring 17 year old, with long, red painted nails, purple spiked hair, and a nose ring.   I start bagging my own groceries, fearful of where the bananas will end up.

I have forgotten my:

1. coupons.
2. list – complete with sale items for this week.
3. cloth bags.
4. head.

It has been one of those days. And frugality has gone out the window.

I make my way to my car. The cashier’s boyfriend rev’s his engine impatiently.   Has he seen that I’m the one causing his immense distress?   When you’re 17 and living life on hormones, everything is a major epic.

Finally I pull into the driveway, can hear the dogs barking like they’ve been left alone for weeks. They crank it up a notch as I unlock the door.   Drama queens.

Finally, they’re fed, the groceries are away, and we all sit contentedly on the couch.   I have my pint of ice cream, skip the bowl, and guiltily share it with them.   Sorry, I’m late guys.

Some days, it’s hard to be frugal.

photo credit:   Little Miss Kitty at Flickr