Seven Things, None of Them the Thing

June twelfth. I went to the store for one item. I will not tell you what it was because the specificity of it would make this too embarrassing, but it was a single, ordinary, completely unglamorous thing that any functioning adult keeps on hand without having to make a special trip.

I did not buy it. I bought kale, which I had not planned to buy, but it looked very good and was misted and I have been doing better about vegetables, and then I bought a lemon because if you have kale you might as well have a lemon, and then I bought a bar of that nice soap from the little display by the checkout that I always tell myself I won't buy because it's three times the price of the regular soap, and then a few other things accrued in the tote in a way that felt logical in the moment and doesn't hold up now.

the inventory moment. did not go well.

I stood at the self-checkout and actually counted. Seven items. The tote was satisfyingly heavy. I felt, briefly, like a person who had accomplished something. And then I looked at the receipt outside and confirmed what I already knew, which is that the one thing I went in for was not among them.

I've been keeping my grocery list in the Notes app for about a year now, which is supposed to help with exactly this, and I did have a list, and the one thing was on it, and I walked right past it. I don't have an explanation. Some weeks adulting is a continuous series of small defeats you have to find funny or you'll lose your mind. This was a small defeat. I found it funny. I'm going back tomorrow.