I went to my local Giant supermarket the other day, a trip I make regularly, so regularly that I deserve a close-in, employee-of-the-month-type parking space. Unlikely as that may be, I do get to park in a special close-in L.E.V., (“low emitting vehicle”) space when I drive the Honda which is a ‘low emitting vehicle.’ (This Giant was built with special “Green” amenities.) Not that I couldn’t use the exercise if I were to park further away and actually walk a little bit. Nevertheless, between the chemotherapy-induced neuropathy in my feet and the associated fluid build-up in my legs — and feet as well, walking, even short distances, is hardly a comfortable stroll. Nor is it a walk in the park.
Once inside the store though, I am less inhibited by my condition — or merely just focused on the shopping task at hand, particularly so when I find myself sauntering down and perusing the candy/cookie aisle, where my presence is a fairly familiar sight. In fact, if the candy/cookie aisle could talk, “You again” would be what it say upon seeing me taking inventory. And as I was doing my due diligence this day: checking availability, price and variety — and taking my time doing so, an employee working in the same aisle who must have noticed my deliberation asked quite innocently and sincerely if I needed any help. Realizing that I was the only customer in the aisle and that the employee must have been talking to me, I started snickering and laughing to myself and did not immediately respond to his offer of assistance. Soon enough though, I turned around, smiled and said: “No. I don’t need any help. If there’s one place in the supermarket where I don’t need any help, it’s this one. Every other aisle, not so much. But candy and cookies, I can handle. Thanks anyway though.”
I ended up buying two medium-sized bags of mint M&Ms which were on sale, the purchase of which were made more enticing after I noticed a coupon dispenser nearby distributing an additional $1.50 off-two coupons. That was all the inducement I needed. Not that I’m necessarily driven by sales and coupons but, given my tendencies — and cash flow, the only self-control I can successfully impose on myself, is price. I won’t buy the item unless it’s on sale and then I can’t stop myself from buying it. Moreover, if I have a coupon as well and the item is on sale, well, it’s “Katie bar the door.” The only question is: how many coupons do I have? However, if the item is not on sale and I also don’t have a coupon, then unless I’m desperate — which occasionally I am, I can withstand the temptation and not buy the item, usually. Such is life in the chocoholic lane.
Unfortunately, the chocolate problem continues once I get home, that is if it hasn’t already reared its ugly head in the car while sitting in the parking lot after I’ve finished my shopping. (And what’s worse, my drive home is barely five minutes. Yet sometimes, it’s too long to wait.) Once inside the house, not immediately though, I’ll probably start getting urges. I rationalize these urges by insisting that I need to eat the candy/cookies so I won’t have the candy/cookies in the house, thereby eliminating said temptation. However, the problem isn’t exactly solved; it’s just recreated, so to speak. Once I’ve eaten all the candy/cookies in the house, and there are no more candy/cookies in the house, I need to go out and get some because — there are no candy/cookies in the house. Ergo, my regular visits to the Giant. It’s not pretty, but it is predictable.
I wouldn’t say I’m a man on a mission, but I am a man on sugar. And though I certainly realize that cancer and sugar are bad together, Kenny without sugar — and with cancer, might actually be worse.
Kenny With Cancer 