Image via WikipediaWE’RE OFF TO FIND THE BUTTER.
Recently, I stopped at a b-rated supermarket where the food and aisles have been downsized to accommodate a few average-sized shoppers and carts at a time, in addition to a menagerie of Munchkins. You know, snotty-nosed knee-knockers wielding mini-shopping carts like weapons.
Passing through the automatic doors is like stepping into Oz. Although in this version of the Wizard of Oz, the world changes from color to black and white, not vice-versa, and and I’m almost run down by shrieking Munchkins racing up and down the bypass lane adjacent to the registers, as shoppers dive into their carts for cover.
Once I make it past the Munchkin hazard, it’s time to meet the cast of characters who will accompany me in my search to find the butter, which will eventually take me back home. Although, as we discovered at the end of the original version of Oz, returning home could have been accomplished at the beginning. Yes, Dorothy was screwed.
The same is true in the supermarket version, however as you know, real life sucks and you don’t eat unless you buy food, and your name isn’t featured in the credits at the end, only on the credit cards, and clicking your heels together would only garner horrified looks from the cart pushers and a likely admonishment from the produce clerk.
I zipped down the veggie aisle and heard a faint cry of, “Help me. Help me,” emanating from the corn husks. No, it wasn’t a fly with a human head. It was Corny, who I found buried beneath a pile of husks. After I freed Corny, he stumbled off the shelf singing and dancing about faux butter or margarine as it is called in Dairyland.
“I need to find the butter,” I said.
“Me, too,” Corny gasped, as I placed a hand on his uh, er, husk, he inched by my side one kernel at a time. Then we hung a right past lobster death row and headed down the poultry aisle – duck, duck, goose – where we began singing, “We’re off to find the butter, the wonderful wizard of glob.”
To be continued . . .
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LOL! I kept reading it as "Gizzard of Blob".. YIKES!
Lobster death row? Now I'm sad. ;-(
Wait. You have a poultry aisle?
RF: Love the "Gizzard of Blob." Actually, the poultry aisle is more of a section. It's not like there are chickens roaming inside a fenced in area with a chopping block and hooded executioner.
ROFL… could it be true that while you're skippity-hippity-hopping along the vegetable lane, one of the munchkin guys managed to sneak right behind you and put magic mushrooms on your cart? I have the impression that you seem to be jumpin in and out of the rabbit hole while writing this. Nice post Alice… err… I mean Dorothy… err… hmm, it's Lauren, right? 😉
Thanks, Ryhen. I have been jumping in and out of the rabbit hole lately. This six-foot tall rabbit keeps pursuing me and dragging me back to Wonderland. He said his name was Harvey.
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HAAA!!!! Lobster death row… OMG!
We hear he is a cheez wiz of a wiz..if ever a wiz there was…sorry (-:
I hate grocery shopping….with a passion, despite the rosy picture you have painted here!
Mrs. B: I can't even look at the lobsters. That version of the song is now indelibly etched in my brain like a phonograph needle on vinyl. Remember those?
Me-Me: I hate markets, too. As a matter of fact, I raced past it tonight instead of stopping for food. The cupboard is bare. It's pizza night. That was not intended to be a rosy picture.