I am in love with Publix.
I’ve really never been fond of grocery stores. They are on my list of “must do in order to survive”, like scrubbing the shower and cleaning the drain in the kitchen sink. I don’t particularly like those tasks, but if I don’t do them, we’ll probably catch some flesh eating bacteria and die a slow, very nasty death. At least that’s what I tell myself when I need motivation to break out the Scrubbing Bubbles.
Since I’ve landed in Georgia, the state, not the country (although it is a foreign land to us and my daughter asked if she needed a passport to come on down), I love grocery shopping.
Admittedly my first trip to the grocery store put me in shock. I was wandering around, probably with wide eyes, a slack jaw, and a few drips of drool sliding down my chin, when my aunt said, “Different, huh?”
It was like I entered the Twilight Zone. Someone greeted me at the door. The man at the deli counter kept handing me samples of deli meats and cheeses. Strangers smiled at me and a stock-boy wished me a good afternoon. Then, the unthinkable happened. Not only did this guy bag my groceries, but he carried them out to my car and loaded them in my trunk.
I nearly fainted.
It was a conversion experience in the parking lot of Publix.
I became a grocery store lover, but not just any grocer store. It’s gotta be Publix, my Publix.
Do you think they will deliver to New York?
Saturday night I ran into Publix for a bag of potatoes and the cashier looked at me and said, “You look exceptionally beautiful today. I don’t know; this may be your normal, but you look beautiful.”
Friends, I don’t care if it’s all lies. I like it!
Now, if you’ll excuse me. I think I need a gallon of milk or maybe some strawberries.
Publix, I’m coming!