How do you like your chicken? Lemon pepper, boneless and skinless, BBQ, organic, individually packaged, fresh frozen or fully cooked, free-range, cage-free, hormone-free, chicken-free veggie meat… Chicken in America comes anyway you want it. A walk through the butcher’s aisle of my local Giant offers dozens of options to prepare poultry for my family. Enough options to make a girl cry. Especially a girl who recently spent time in a country where chicken comes only two ways: dead or alive.
Before leaving Honduras, we were warned that upon returning to the U.S., we might find ourselves overwhelmed with the choices before us. Indeed, during my first trip to the grocery, I wandered up and down the 23 aisles, nauseous and emotional. So much stuff! The complete opposite of the humble yet sufficient supermercado where I had so recently shopped. So much perceived want masked as need. Yet, I bought into it. Those welcome home Cocoa Krispies never tasted so good!
Other advice we received upon our departure from the orphanage was to avoid feeling guilty for the conveniences we have. Wise advice; we have so many creature comforts, they are hardly avoidable. Prepared food via drive-thru, take-out, and delivery, movies that come to us immediately, the world at our fingertips through online shopping. While preparing to host our Thanksgiving feast, I order our groceries online, never having to battle the weather, other frenzied shoppers, or my whiny children.
One of my favorite conveniences from the world of InstantGratification.com are diapers. I can hop online, tap the screen a few times, and have diapers delivered to my front door within 24 hours. That’s faster than sending my husband to the store for a pack! I’ve taken to ordering toilet paper, laundry detergent, shampoo, you-name-it, all with free shipping and overnight delivery.
That guaranteed quick turnaround means procrastinators can wait to order until an item is almost empty at home. I know my website will deliver the day after, so I request a new package of diapers when my daughter is down to a day’s worth. Why do I test them so? For a gal who usually has three dozen rolls of toilet paper stored under cabinets, this diaper-roulette is a surprising twist.
It might come back to haunt me tomorrow. Forecasters warn a half-foot of snow is headed our way. In this pseudo-Southern state, such precipitation is paralyzing. My bulk diaper purchase is “in transit,” scheduled to be delivered in the height of the snow storm, putting the internets and brown truck company to the test. Have I become too dependent on my conveniences? Come tomorrow afternoon, I might be forced to wrap a blanket around my little one’s middle, donn my snow boots, and head to my local grocery store. At least I know that when I arrive, I can choose whatever type of diaper suits our needs. And while I’m there, I might just pick up some chicken for dinner.