Judge Not, Lest I Judge Your Ass Right Back

I should have been sleeping, tidying up the Treehouse, or cleaning the fridge. There were a million other things that were worth doing at the moment too, but in the end, they all lost.

I needed ice cream.

I went to the grocery store and steered myself in the direction of the frozen food aisle. I had just replenished my produce that morning at the Farmer's Market, so there was nothing I needed to pick up. Making a beeline for the prize was I.

I studied my choices carefully. I couldn't decide between Chocolate Fudge Brownie or Strawberry, so I picked up both. As my fingers started to absorb the frost from the containers, I considered making other purchases to take the attention away from the ice cream. Despite previous assertions to the contrary, I am completely positive that check-out cashiers totally pay attention to what your're forking money over for. Then they tell stories while they're on break. I know for certain that when I buy 3 packs of condoms and a large bottle of Vitamin C that this alone raises their eyebrows for at least the next seven minutes.

Anyway, I decided against camoflauging my dessert. 'Loud and proud Grae, loud and proud,' I said to myself as I joined the ever-growing line.

As I stood there, fingers numbing more and more with each passing second, I focused on the tabloid headlines. Angelina and Jen are at it again, Nick Lachey caught with another woman, etc. I shurgged my shoulders, and reluctantly threw one on top of my two containers. I focused on going to a zen place and ignoring the tortoise-like speed of the cashier. It was then that I felt a sudden Code Red Alert go off in my Girl Control Room. This is one that is triggered by the narrowed eyes and vicious thoughts of others, usually unhappy women, when they are sizing you up. But where was it coming from?

I ascertained quickly that it was actually the man standing in front of me. He had a shaved head, and was quite muscular. His purchases consisted of lots of produce, soy products, and Luna bars. A health nut no doubt, and we would have shared a look of satisfaction from our similar tastes had I been buying what I normally do. This time, though, we were on the same planet in different worlds. I noticed that he was regarding my ice creams and poor excuse for a reading device with disdain. He actually rolled his eyes skyward and sighed a little.

He was silently judging me.

I was shocked at first. Was this Lillith Fair-attending, hiking boot-wearing, cue ball-looking motherfucker asserting that I was lame? That notion was so hilarious that I started laughing. He quickly looked back at me, totally embarassed, and I just kept snickering. Then I stopped, thinking that he needed to be punished for setting off my Code Red alarm. I sniffed and tried to make it sound wet. He ignored me. I sniffed again and he looked back.

Unbenownst to me, I was about to give the finest performance of my life. Look for my name atop the Oscar nominees this year.

"You ever had your heart broken?" I said ruefully.

"Uh..." he took a miniscule step backward, not knowing if I was reaching out for help or threatening to actually break his heart.

"Like, one day you're working out all the time, eating apples, thinking you're the one, and the next, you're buying two cartons of Ben and Jerry's ice cream that you know you'll have eaten in less than two hours?"

He just stared at me openmouthed.

"And the only thing that can keep you from wanting to hurt yourself or perhaps others is reading a stupid gossip magazine?"

Still staring.

"Naw, you probably don't know what I mean. You eat so healthy. And that polar fleece is so stylish."

Although visibly shaken, he paid for his groceries with lightning quick speed.

"But even so, it's still great to be in love."

He grabbed all of his plastic bags in one swoop and ran out of the Ralph's. He didn't look back once.

Serves him right. Maybe next time he won't be so quick to assume that people who eat fatty, artery-clogging, delicious dessert products with a side of yellow journalism are all assholes. They might be liars, but not assholes.

paparazzi-tastic. g