Groovin’ at the grocery
Thom had to go to work, so with most of the day to myself I went to my apartment to check mail, drop off the rent check, etc. Beforehand I stopped at Fresh Fields on P Street for some food, and was reminded why I love that place. No, not the overpriced gourmet food, most of which I’ll never get around to trying. Or the cute boys. (Most of whom I’ll never get around to trying. Are they overpriced too?) Okay, so maybe they are the reason I love the place. Mmm.
Oh, but my point: running a close second is the constant retro hit parade over the loudspeaker. Who puts these playlists together? There must be some big supplier of retail-zone music out there, and Fresh Fields’ standing order is something approximating a “mix” radio station. (Unfortunately, though, no shopping-cart traffic reports: “Folks, register six is backed up bumper-to-bumper, all the way to produce…” Okay, at least it’s not the Soviet Safeway on 17th Street.) Anyway, this morning’s musical highlights, which came on as I perused the frozen foods: “Forever Your Girl”—oh my god, I loved that whole album; how old was I, like, eleven?—and “Our House,” you know, “in the middle of our street…” Nice. You know something’s good when you find yourself not so much walking, but strutting with your shopping cart. We’ve all been there.
Go ahead. Sing it, girlfriend.