I am too important to shop…

…or, so it would seem. When did I become this oh-so-important woman with a life that does not allow for mundane tasks such as grocery shopping? My "other" car (yes, my dear Wagenschen) is almost 10 years old, I wore a skirt to work today that I have owned since 1997, and yet I have my groceries delivered to my door, nay, to my very refrigerator door.

I don't know how I became this woman. It was a gradual process, I guess, but one that frightens me nonetheless. What's next? Someone to cook my meals and pick up my dry cleaning? (Okay, maybe I should not have typed that out loud.)

Perhaps some background is in order. I live a simple life. I work a part-time academic job and teach a college course. I work hard, but I don't typically have to work insane hours. I teach early in the morning on Fridays and then (often) have the rest of the day to myself. Being showered, dressed, and conscious (and having accomplished something before 9:00 am) by 9:00 am with the rest of the day in front of me allows me to do things like run errands – you know, like grocery shop.

Okay, okay, or I could catch up on the reading I didn't do for the week, respond to student work, take care of bills, actually wash a dish or two, take some time to knit for more than a few minutes, work on improving my sudoku skills, label and catalog our digital pics, update our website, put some thought into jazzing up my lecture notes for the next week, read more than two sections of the Sunday New York Times, catch up in my correspondence – like with my family, or even (dare I say it) work on getting a part of my dissertation published.

Whew. I typed that paragraph without even looking once at any of my to do lists. Thinking about my lists reminded me that I could add watering the plants, vacuuming the living room, and going to the UPS store to my "wide open" Fridays.

We got our first grocery delivery back in November. We had discussed it a couple of times over several nights of delivered pizza and more than one morning of coffee with rationed portions of milk. The turning point was the junk mail that arrived with a significant discount on our first order. Sold.

We thought we'd give them a shot. A trial period, if you will. Because they're probably too expensive to do on a regular basis. And they probably don't pick nice produce and fresh meats. And the service probably sucks. And the price is probably too high to be worth it.

Predictably enough, we loved it. The delivery came on time, the fresh items were wonderful, the convenience was worth the price. Even the delivery guy looked like the polished, perfect delivery guys in the promotional materials. He was also extremely polite and very helpful.

He made it easier for me to get over my guilt much faster than I thought I would.

And so I am that much closer to becoming the kind of woman I loathed (see the old post here about working in a cubicle et al.). If I start getting regular manicures and worry about having the right handbag (or start using the word handbag), somebody shoot me.