I saw perfection in a girl this evening at Shoprite. She was buying cold cuts from the deli section. I couldn't help but stare... in envious anger. I stared, but couldn't stand to look at her; it was like staring at a greusome car accident. I volunteered to go to the prepared foods aisle to grab a box of hamburger helper that Keith forgot per usual -- at least I didn't have to see her for about 2 minutes. I stood there, amongst the processed cheeses and hams, silently praying that things didn't have to be this way. I made comments to my friend as to what cold cuts she was purchasing -- maybe a half-pound of perfect ham? A pound of flawless turkey? A quarter-pound of Everything I wish I was cheese? Still, I sit here and shake my head in disgust, whether it's at her or myself; I'm not sure. But one thing I know for certain: Oscar Meyer ham looks nothing like ham.
Perfection in Shoprite
12:27 a.m.//05.17.05
Mood: Disappointed
Sound: Yankee game in the background
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