The cupboard is bare

I started to giggle as soon as I steered my cart into the fruit and vegetable aisle.  My giggle morphed into a chuckle as I passed the Vidalia onions and by the time I had reached the organic tofu, I was laughing maniacally.  But it was not until I was standing in front of the dried plums (aka prunes), feeling lost and frantically pulling scraps of tissues and rusted pennies out of my purse that I knew without a doubt that, once again, I was rudderless.  I could not find my shopping list.

It never fails that I lose my shopping list as soon as I set foot into a grocery store. I'm pretty useless under the best of circumstances, but when forced to choose among 1,700 kinds of pasta without a list I just stand around with a glazed look on my face, hoping to be guided by trails of Italian breadcrumbs on the floor.

I don't mean to imply that a list is the solution to all of my problems - there's also the not so little problem of my handwriting - which is patently illegible.  On the rare occasions when my list has managed to follow me into the store, (usually clinging to the toilet paper I am trailing on the sole of my shoe) it is not unusual for me to stand for several minutes by the tilapia and stare stupidly at the following:

Pint of gopher milk
Landmine toadies
Chuckle babies
Apple doozy - no flibber!!!

A guy named Bill Keaggy maintains a blog called Grocery Lists.org.  It claims to be the world's largest online collection of grocery lists (is there more than one)?  He started it when he found an abandoned list in the bottom of the cart, found it fun to read and started a collection.

I don't know if any of my errant lists have made it onto GroceryLists.org.  But I'll be looking.  I still need to buy the ingredients for a great recipe I found in a magazine, including flounder eurteabia and turtle grog.