As a young wife, I began a love affair with Trader Joe. He was a calm port in the storm of grocery store strikes, a haven for those in Southern California who didn’t want to cross picket lines.
But our love outlasted the union turmoil, and it grew as our family grew. Organic produce at a reasonable price? Sure. Snacks without HFCS? But, of course. 2 buck Chuck? Ah, yes.
Imagine then, the thought at leaving my beloved Joe and heading overseas where I would be subject to <gasp> mainstream groceries at the on-base commissary. While I always knew I was lucky to have Joe, I never realized just how much it would hurt to leave him behind.
One particular day in Korea, I found myself near tears in the frozen section of the commissary when I thought they had discontinued what was nearly the only organic meat they carried. This is a true story folks, and embarrassingly there are witnesses to prove it.
But I’m back. And apparently Joe was paying attention. Because what greets me every time I visit? Secret little love notes that tell me that my time in Korea was not lost on him.
Coincidence? I think not.
I’m not blind, Joe. I can see how much you’ve missed me. I’m back, though, and to show my devotion, I even moved to the same town as your corporate headquarters. Next on my list of “Honey-Do-Carry” list: raw milk.