The Joint List

So yesterday I went to the supermarket. Yes, I’m about to post about grocery shopping, but don’t worry, there’s angst AND cock involved. Anyway, I was grocery shoping when I ran into Bethany from knitting club (yes I go to knitting club, and if you dontt stop interrupting, I’ll never get to the cock part of the story). Bethany was with her boyfriend and their shopping cart and their list. You know, their list. A joint list. With the things both people like to eat. It probably hangs on their fridge and they write on it when they run out of lightbulbs or peanut butter.

I was really glad to see her but I got insanely jealous. Not of the boyfriend, who I’m sure is a real nice guy, but jealous of the Joint List and all it stands for. This is no fault of Stick’s — I’m the one who flipped when he wanted to move in together. In fact, I don’t think it really has very much to do with Stick at all. It’s probably some post-college clinginess or mid-twenties hormonal crap.

Anyway, that’s why I was walking around with my basket of single girl food, feeling very sad. Single girl food is six-for-five-dollars yogurt cartons, a frozen diet pizza to replace one of Steph’s I ate the other night and a pint of sorbet. I decided to add some instant soup to my culinary cliches, and I saw…

That’s a picture of a packet of instant chicken soup which was labeled “Cock Flavored” in big, red letters. Of course I had to buy it and bring it home.

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