I have a rough life. As ""the food guy,"" I'm constantly offered free food, hounded to taste a yummy cake and bribed with delicious treats. But when it comes to relationships, cramming your face doesn't exactly make them come running. But why should I change who I am for some girl?
I shouldn't, and I won't. I've come up with the perfect romantic plan, and I've met a pretty little lady with no idea what's coming. I even hear she has a boyfriend, but after I work my foodie magic, he'll be packing his bags.
I'm going to fully embrace my food passion and bring her into my world. No more stuffy restaurant dates. From now on, I'll take her out... to the grocery store.
I'll start with Capitol Center Foods. It's perfect for a first date, kind of like a coffee shop. As we stroll down Mifflin, we'll get the basic ""how-do-ya-dos"" out of the way, and the small store prevents any drawn-out awkward moments. Best of all, it's cheap—I don't know yet if she's worth the big bucks.
After this, I'll aim to impress with a date at Sentry Foods in Hilldale Mall. The upscale Sentry is like a fine Italian restaurant, complete with dimly lit aisles and Sinatra on the loudspeaker.
Next, I'll change up the pace by taking her to the newly opened Trader Joe's. Bright lighting, upbeat music and Hawaiian-themed employee outfits make it the grocery equivalent of a cheesy theme restaurant. Speaking of cheese, T.J.'s has a wide selection, so I can wow her with my brainy knowledge of fine cuisine.
By this time, we'll have grown quite close. She'll suggest spending more time together, and I'll respond with a trip to Woodman's. The mega-store has an endless selection, and we'll spend an entire glorious day roaming the aisles, hand in hand. Instead of teaching her how to shoot pool at a bar, I'll teach her the art of navigating the monster grocery carts, suggestively wrapping my arms around her as I help her steer.
After our day of love, she'll ask me to come ""meet the parents."" After arriving in some small town, I'll spend Sunday morning ingratiating myself during a family trip to the small-town market.
But wait, this is all too perfect, right? Of course I'll screw up—we all do. It'll start out innocently enough—I'll stop over at another girl's place to chat. Our conversation will grow more intimate as the night goes on, until all of a sudden it will happen: Hungry and without food, she'll pressure me into going to Aldi's with her.
""No one will see us,"" my mistress will say. ""Who goes to Aldi's anyway?""
I'll have a horrible feeling as I enter the discount store, the still-boxed goods making me feel like a dirty, cheap whore. And sure enough, my unfaithful ways will come out when the love of my life finds a grocery bag from Aldi's in my bedroom. She'll hold it up accusingly, tears welling up in her eyes and I'll know what I have to do.
I'll take her on an exotic vacation—a romantic getaway to Byerly's in the Twin Cities, a fond childhood memory of hers. When she sees that bakery counter, she'll struggle to find the words to tell me how much she loves me, and I will be forgiven.
At last, the time will have come. Back in Madison now, she'll expect a routine trip to Copp's. But when she sees the glowing Whole Foods Market sign, her heart will begin to pound. I'll take my time, procuring the free samples for her in a gentlemanly way, and then, just as we near the seafood, I'll drop to one knee and pop the question.
We'll be wedded in the produce section, and honeymoon at the salad bar, enjoying the endless exotic indulgences that only Whole Foods can offer.
You know how this ends. The first two years are great as we travel the nation on a grocery tour. As the years pass, I'll get lazy. Anniversaries will be spent at Cub Foods, me sneaking generic goods into our cart like I'm passing a cubic zirconia for an anniversary diamond.
But in our golden years, our love will come alive once more. We'll rejoice as we push our walkers down the aisles of health food stores, searching for fiber-rich foods to combat incessant constipation. Oh yes, we will live happily ever after.
