My Hometown

My Hometown

The Piggly Wiggly

I am the absolute worst when it comes to grocery shopping.

The humongous stores, the lines that are never ending because only two of the registers are open, and the overwhelming amount of stuff that we don’t need, but that we just have to get because they put it right next to the chicken that we are buying and they swear it will be the seasoning that changes how you eat your fried chicken.

So, I do my best to avoid the grocery store that is less than a mile from my front door and make the nearly ten-mile trip, crossing through what seems like millions of red lights, going through any number of school zones, and fighting traffic – just to go to the closest Piggly Wiggly.

But there’s just something different about a trip to the Piggly Wiggly.

I remember my first trip to the Pig; back when I was just a lil guy.

Mom always did the grocery shopping in our house, but she wasn’t feeling well that day and we had nothing for dinner so the chore fell on dad and he let me come along.

We jumped into his old pickup truck and off we went. Him mumbling under his breath about having to drive to the next town for stupid groceries, me bouncing in my seat with excitement as I hummed along with the George Jones cassette that was playing.

When we walked into the store, my eyes shot wide open at the sheer size of it (all 8 aisles of it) – it was the biggest store that I had ever seen.

Dad and I walked up and down the aisles grabbing whatever looked good for dinner – chicken, bag of potatoes, some corn, and chicken noodle soup for mom.

When we finished and went to check out, dad tossed a few of the individually wrapped apple pies into the cart for dessert; the one’s that they place right there by the gum and impulse buy magazine’s just to remind you that you forgot dessert.

He then handed me a cherry pie, my favorite flavor, and winked - “Now don’t tell your mom I spoiled your dinner!”

I ripped that pie open and dove into right there in the lane.

When we got to the checkout lady (Mrs. Dawson who we knew from church), she looked at me with the cherry filling all over my mouth and handed me a paper towel to wipe it off.

She then put her finger to her mouth - “shhhhh,” just to remind me not to tell mom I had a pie before dinner.

 

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