Friday night, I did something I never, ever do. I went to the grocery store on my way home from work. This is a recipe for disaster, because I'm always starving after work, so I want to buy every single food item I see, and I'm also exhausted, so I don't have the strength or willpower to argue with the little voice in my head that says, "Get those tulips. They'll look so good in the front flower bed. You deserve to come home after a long day at work and see an aesthetically pleasing flower bed. What is work for, anyway, if not to earn money with which to buy tulips?"
But I had a coupon that expired that day, so to the grocery store I went, with an empty stomach and very low resolve.
And thus I came home Friday night laden with reusable bags and shame.
Seriously. Of all the things I bought, fewer than half could be eaten as an actual meal. This is how I end up with lunches that make no sense. My co-workers come to work with nice, neat little containers of things to eat for lunch, like sandwiches, or a healthy vegetable stir-fry, or leftover pizza. I bring a huge bag of cheese puffs, a jar of peanut butter, a handful of caramel corn, and if I'm feeling really responsible, an apple.
The good news is, I don't feel guilty about it anymore, because the moment I dumped my bags of failure-groceries on the kitchen counter and started lamenting my spending habits and personal choices, Hubs revealed something awesome.
Ultimately, it all comes down to priorities. Some people like eating from all the food groups. Hubs would rather buy 82 packs of Ramen for $5 and play Skyrim. As for me, I don't mind eating cheese-filled tortillas for every meal and continuing to wear the same pair of sandals I've already glued back together twice, as long as I can have chocolate ice cream with swirls of marshmallow and caramel and tiny fish-shaped fudge pieces.
Having low standards is really the key to happiness.