Today I had to break my week of isolation and venture out to Leclerc after having eaten all my bread, cheese, and pasta this week.This week, like every week I go to Leclerc, I casually checked myself out in the mirror beside the escalator leading up to the store and made sure I had my grocery list firmly in hand. Every week I make these lists for myself to remind me of what exactly I need and I promise myself that I will buy only those specific items. And every week I somehow manage to purchase things that aren't on the list.
Today's not-on-the-list-but-in-the-bag items were 2 baskets of fresh Spanish strawberries. At only 1 euro for the 2, I didn't really feel bad about buying them. Adding to this the fact that the display made the entire produce section smell like strawberries and that there was a gaggle of gray haired French ladies all clustered around it and speaking rapid excited French - a difficult thing for me to understand after having only woken up 30 minutes before - and it seemed that my choice in adding the strawberries to my bad wasn't merely excusable, but was justified.
What probably wasn't as justified though was that as soon as the baskets were in my bag I began humming Deana Carter's song "Strawberry Wine" which got me one confused look from a French man and a few actual smiles from the same gray haired women who had been talking earlier over the strawberries, though I doubt any of them recognized the song.
Oh well, some things need no translation.
Today's not-on-the-list-but-in-the-bag items were 2 baskets of fresh Spanish strawberries. At only 1 euro for the 2, I didn't really feel bad about buying them. Adding to this the fact that the display made the entire produce section smell like strawberries and that there was a gaggle of gray haired French ladies all clustered around it and speaking rapid excited French - a difficult thing for me to understand after having only woken up 30 minutes before - and it seemed that my choice in adding the strawberries to my bad wasn't merely excusable, but was justified.
What probably wasn't as justified though was that as soon as the baskets were in my bag I began humming Deana Carter's song "Strawberry Wine" which got me one confused look from a French man and a few actual smiles from the same gray haired women who had been talking earlier over the strawberries, though I doubt any of them recognized the song.
Oh well, some things need no translation.
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