Like that but worse and with boring matching socks.
So this week the chief and fluent English speaker of our SAH tribe decided that we three would deviate from our usual Sunday night Target trip and pop into a different store to try to procure some almond butter to make these delights because I can't lose sugar-free steam just 5 little days into the tox. I won't tell you the store's name but ... maybe just a little teeny tiny hint ...
I know everyone love love loves Trader Joe's but I can't go in there without feeling like an elephant in a labyrinth intended for purpose driven mice. The mini-carts fit exactly one Sebastian, one Julia, and three whole organic grapes so I have to be prudent with my purchases which doesn't matter because I've gotten so many loud passive aggressive "get out the way" sighs by the time I get out of the produce section that I end up leaving before I have to worry about exceeding any cart capacities.
I don't know why I thought Jose's bigger, healthier brother would be any different. The carts were smaller (an impossible feat), the front seat where Sebastian resided was about 4 inches deep so he resembled a drunken sitting octopus swinging at and successfully hitting every single thing that came within a 3 foot radius of his eight arms (I eventually realized that no one cares about cart seat depth because I noticed that everyone wears their babies in that store ... I was the only heartless b pushing my children away from me in a glorified roofless cage), and the place reeked of naturally deodorized human. Yum.
I eventually found the almond butter and thought I must've swallowed some crazy when I saw the price ... why don't you take a guess?
Guess ...(Simon guessed $7.00 ..... WRONG)
$16.99 for a pipsqueak sized jar.
Oh, wait. That was for raw diamond encrusted almond butter. Silly me.
I finally found a plain (cooked?) jar for a mere $6.99 but apparently I got a little distracted in our skinny little aisle of butters buzzing with 68 people filling their reusable bags with potato starch and lentils and kale straight from the barrel (?!) and had a very close call with Sebastian and many glass jars of raw honey because when I got home I realized I had actually purchased ...
This is a total no-no on my little list but I still used it and lived to type about it. I zoomed to the checkout line and passed through the cheese section where my little narrator exclaimed that it smelled like "stinky poop!!" which was so painfully accurate that I couldn't exactly correct her candor but instead I watched helplessly as one of Sebastian's ninja swats hit one of his trillion targets. Oh, yes it did. I watched as a pyramid of gluten-free brownie bite containers went flying alllllllll over the front of the store and sent many pairs of Toms running into the wheatgrass abyss in the wake of my plight. Julia didn't skip a beat and continued her narration, "faw down!!!!" while Sebastian grew bored with my red faced flurry of attempts to restack the fallen soldiers and looked hungrily at the display of million dollar tulips that were an unsafe 6 feet away from Meduso himself. I purchased some of the bites (tasted like cardboard charcoal, as rightly suspected) that I couldn't fit back into my reconstructed pyramid (tall singular stack) and fled to where I belonged ...
A land I'll never cheat on ever, ever, ever, ever again.
Former hippy's honor.