In order to be fabulously gay, you must, as a general rule, love shopping. Over the past week or so, I've noticed a pretty huge change in my shopping addictions. I realized the other day that my favorite shopping, at this very moment in time, is grocery shopping. And I was kinda taken by surprise. Robert pointed out the other day, after we got home from the grocery, that the refrigerator was so full that we hardly had room for anything we had just bought. When I opened the refrigerator door just ten minutes ago, it was all I could do to keep things from falling out. There's just no way for me to express how happy this makes me.
In part, I think our newfound love of shopping for food comes from our recent hospital visits. During those visits, we had to wander around and raid refrigerators in the hopes of finding something to snack on. There's generally very little to choose from. There's only so many times you can make a meal of a turkey sandwich and jello. And by so many times, I mean once. Other than that, there's the hospital meals, which while not bad, are not exactly offered to you via an expansive menu. No, you get that chopped meatloaf and by golly you will love it!
Hence, I've felt compelled to make sure we have maximum variety in the house. And I've been cooking up a storm. Sort of to the point that as soon as we're done with one meal, I'm already thinking about what to make for the next one. This is a domestic side of myself that I've only every before seen when it's exam time in grad school, because avoiding studying is amazing motivation for cooking something massively complicated.
I've also taken to convincing Robert that a trip to the grocery is, among other things, good exercise, especially because it promotes healing via normal activity. And because we both love food, a trip to get milk usually turns into a trip to also get tortillas, Gatorade, green chile, hash browns, eggs, and maybe some cookies. If you're New Mexican and just read that short list, you'll probably note that I've totally been making my own breakfast burritos (a.k.a. the New Mexican version of heaven, in a tortilla). Seriously. Breakfast time is approximately eight hours away from this very moment, and I'm already salivating over the yumminess that awaits me.