Supermarketing

Ever since I got my feeding (literal translation from Portuguese) card from work (monthly allowance for grocery shopping, love socialism!), I developed a new routine of evening visits to the supermarket, to shop for my dinner.  It’s a strange thing, but when you move to a new place, one of the things that you need to learn to do is how to feed yourself (yes, I am definitely feeling I’m going through re-evolution once again) – how to locate the products that you know from home or their equivalents, what are some new things that you can adopt into your new diet, etc.

So, here I am, every evening, walking in circles around the local supermarket aisles and trying to figure out what to eat. Between shelves loaded with pasta, others with rice and beans and a whole wall full of cheeses, and the fresh produce that is not so fresh, I found little incentive to develop healthy eating habits.  And so, I resorted to the evil of all evils – the bread aisle!!! Fresh baked little baguette, called Pão frences (french bread), keep calling me every time I get into the store, and I lose my senses, pick them up, and take them home with me.  Of course, I can’t eat them alone, so I compliment with some cream cheese, or just normal cheese, or some ham or something else that is not helping my already high cholesterol level..

As I said, evil. My only excuse (mostly to myself) is that my recent overdose of carbohydrates is a way to deal with my currently delicate mental state resulting from my over-strained housing situation.

My most recent politically incorrect work incident happened this Monday when my boss asked if I had already gotten my brazilian bikini, and explaining me how he used to live with a swedish girl who was also initially shy about wearing such bathing suit but figured out that she is better off not standing out and never looked back ever since.. my response: “hmmmm…”, followed by smile and nod..

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