How’s my week going?
Well, I almost drove into oncoming traffic while looking at a poster for cronuts in the Crumbs Cupcakes window, I’ve been commuting 45 minutes to work in a car with no A/C in 100 degree weather, and at one point, a Trader Joe’s cashier seemed genuinely concerned for my well-being.
Overall, I find TJ’s employees to be way too prying and overly friendly. I appreciate them asking if I have a fun weekend planned, but they always take that next step too far and ask me what I’m doing. You have checked my ID and can see I’m a 24-year-old buying only $4 wine, egg whites, a quart of skim milk, and Ezekiel bread, so what do you think I’m doing? Eating an egg sandwich for dinner, drinking a glass of wine while listening to “Bad Girls” by MIA, then teetering around West Hollywood in cork wedges, desperately trying to make a human connection with a man I hope won’t slip a rohypnal into whatever variation of a gin and elderflower cocktail I’m drinking. Like, why bother asking?
Anyway, my cashier made some intense eye contact and asked if I was okay, then proceeded to tell me how I have “beautiful eyes, and do I get that a lot?, and I just think this world is just such a hard place and we should all be kinder to each other and compliment each other more.” Now, I could, could have launched into a feminist tirade about how he would never say that to a male customer, and why does he assume that my emotional well-being is tied to a strange man’s approval of my appearance, BUT. But. He meant well. I think he gave himself a pat on the back for probably saving me from turning on some Patsy Cline and Girl, Interrupting myself in a warm bath. And let him think that.
In reality, though, I just have something called a Resting Bitch Face, so people are constantly asking if I’m okay.
Anyway, anyway. Crumbnuts. Probably the best part of my week? They’re just a cross between a donut and a croissant, though I will go out on a limb and say these particular cronut knock-offs are just a croissant shaped like a donut, filled with Bavarian creme. Still good, though I felt like a garbage can after I finished it. God did not intend for humans to eat cronuts. Or movie theatre nachos. Or Dominos stuffed cheesy bread. Yet here we are, and here we shall remain. Human trash compactors.
Sorry, does this sound like a suicide note?
If you’re interested in reading something that doesn’t sound like it was written in Winona Ryder’s journal circa 1992, you should check out Kasey’s Kitchen, a blog written by my coworker, without whom, those cronuts would not be possible. She had a bunch of Crumbs gift cards and a dream.
Also, formal apology to Kasey for including her in my bell-jar of a blog post.