Jonesing for a rotisserie chicken

It’s been two weeks since I’ve been to the grocery store and things are looking bare. I’m out of soy milk and apple juice. There are no organic peanuts in the apartment. And, my lips can’t remember the last time they tasted a crispy roasted chicken.

There’s no food in my kitchen and the truck is to blame.

It’s too cold to walk 10 blocks with grocery bags and I’m still not confident enough in my driving prowess to wheel into the cramped parking garage at the Whole Foods Market. I mean, I used to have a very difficult time maneuvering the Volvo station wagon around.

I suppose I could shop somewhere else, but, I won’t. I’m addicted to the Whole Foods Market experience. As a tree hugger, I like the wholesome, fresh food. I applaud the company’s recent commitment to power its stores by renewable energy – a deal my organization helped broker. I enjoy looking at the attractive crowd that shops at Whole Foods -- no fat women in sweat pants buying frozen dinners.

My shopping habits admittedly are based on aesthetics and convenience. Before the accident with the deer, I would drive back to Washington from Rehoboth every Monday morning. After work, I’d hit the gym, followed by my once-a-week trip to Whole Foods.

By 8 o’clock, the after-work crowd at Whole Foods has thinned out. Parking is easy. And depending on my mood, I might pop across the street to Halo Bar for a Manhattan cocktail. Bourbon kills the appetite and I find it better to shop with a little buzz on than hungry. Better for the waistline. By 8:30, you can almost always pick up a rotisserie chicken. And there are also plenty of attractive fabby boys in post-workout Abercrombie wandering through the aisles filling their carts up with green leafy vegetables, bananas, cans of “certified dolphin safe” tuna, and bottles of Smart Water.

So you clearly see my conundrum. I suppose I could drive to a more “truck-friendly” grocery store. But, I just sense that the rotisserie chicken wouldn’t achieve that perfect balance of crispy skin and moist meat. There’d be no Manhattans across the street. No tasty organic peanuts or men.

There has got to be a way to own a truck and still shop at the Whole Foods Market.