I used to enjoy grocery shopping.

I liked wandering the aisles, deciding what looked good, picking up something that wasn’t on the list. A nice cheese. Interesting crackers. Uncontaminated berries.

Now? No joy. It is a chore.

I stand in front of the shelves weighing my options as though I am selecting a health insurance plan.

Do I need this?

Will we finish it?

Is the larger size actually cheaper?

I came in for groceries. Apparently, I should have brought an accountant.

Impulse shopping has left the building. Occasionally, I pick something up just for the pleasure of putting it back, reminding myself of my recent browsing trips to Bergdorf Goodman…oh, how I miss my frivolous, impulsive shopping days partnered with my highly honed rationalization skills.

Back to the unsexy grocery store aisles.

The cheese and I had a moment. It wasn’t meant to be.

And then there is checkout, where a remarkably small collection of perfectly ordinary food produces a total that makes me wonder whether I accidentally purchased the cart.

I look at the bags. I look at the receipt. I look back at the bags.

There must be a lobster in there somewhere.

There is no lobster.

The old consolation was, “Let’s just go out for dinner.”

That option has been trimmed after being placed on budgetary Ozempic. By the time you add an appetizer, a glass of wine, dessert, tax and tip, a casual evening requires a serious conversation.

So we eat at home. Which means planning the meal, shopping for it, cooking it and cleaning up afterward. I am the chef, the server and the dishwasher, and frankly, morale among the staff is deteriorating.

What I miss about grocery shopping is the small pleasure of it all. Choosing something because it looks delicious. Trying a recipe without calculating the cost of the ingredients. Buying artisan bread is now out of the question  $12 for a loaf is loathsome.

I miss going out on a Tuesday evening because I do not feel like cooking.

Nothing extravagant. Just dinner without participating in reservation hell.

Instead, I am back in the grocery aisle, comparing two jars of sauce and wondering how feeding ourselves became such a joyless exercise. I quickly decide it is cheaper to make my own sauce from scratch.

Question…does cheese ever go on sale?

*The contents of the bowl of fruit and veggies is approximately $13.