Damn right I do, Mr. Trader Joe's Cashier Boy. And this was another one I didn't recognize. Honestly, it's one thing if it is one of the crew members who sees me so often they know where I work out or recognize my awesome coat, but when it's someone I've never seen before? Does my reputation as a lush precede me? I walked up to the registers carrying five bottles of wine in my arms along with my reusable tote half-filled with groceries at the same time as a woman with a single bottle of pinot grigio.
She saw me and said, "Oh, go ahead hon."
I was all, "No, don't worry about it. I'm fine. I'm good at carrying all of this stuff."
"Do you have kids?" she asked.
"Hahahahahahahahahaha. No," I replied.
And in steps the cashier with the remark about my alcoholism. I do so love Trader Joe's. I had really only planned to buy about three bottles. But I saw a new cheapish red table wine I'd never tried. And they had two bottles of my current favorite on the shelf -- Sainte Croix Syrah-Merlot. It is fan-fucking-tastic, y'all. So, I had to buy those since they were out last time.
I knew the very nice woman who was going to let me go first had a pinot grigio in her hand because I used some of that very same wine last night to make this delightful risotto with asparagus, mint and lemon. I'd never made risotto before. It was pretty easy, if not a little time-consuming. But really, you have all the time while you're stirring and waiting for the stock to absorb to cut up the asparagus and mint and zest and juice the lemon. And oh, the lemon! It's absolutely heavenly.
Abrupt subject change alert: For those of you keeping score at home (which I figure is no one), my nephew nailed another kid in the head last night in his first inning of pitching. Sweet! This time he hit the kid square in the back of the helmet, and kinda hard. The kid went down pretty fast and my nephew actually looked a little scared/sheepish. Which is good, coming from the kid who when asked if he feels bad when he hits someone said, "No. They should get out of the way faster."
It's everything I can do to keep myself from toting my little iPod boombox along to a game and blasting "Wild Thing" when he walks out to the mound. I'm going to start calling him Rick Vaughn.