We were having some very dear friends over for dinner for cioppino, one of my favorite meals. (These are the friends who referred me to the doctor who was able to diagnose my RSD, so they deserve a special meal.) I set out for the local gourmet grocery store while my patient, long-suffering husband took a long, well-deserved bike ride. I live in a city that requires reusable grocery bags, and I realized halfway there that I had left my grocery bags at home, but I have about 700 spares in my trunk at all times, so all was well. One of the benefits of being, shall we say, overly organized.
I found a parking space right at the front of the building and they had everything on my list, which was no mean feat considering the exotic items on my list and saved me several side trips. I wasn't fasting before a medical procedure this time, so I was able to enjoy the free samples. I didn't even have to wait at the checkout. What a lucky day!
I drove home and unloaded my groceries. I had just gathered up all the bags when suddenly, I heard a loud crash and pop, followed by an unbelievable stench. For a moment I stood there stunned, convinced I'd been shot in a random drive-by shooting and the smell was my internal organs hitting the concrete floor. Then I looked down and discovered the culprit.
One of my spare grocery bags had developed a hole and a bottle of clam juice met its maker in a blaze of glory, bursting into a million pieces. Do you know what smells worse than a bottle of clam juice? A bottle of clam juice hitting a car's hot exhaust pipe. Do you know what smells worse than a bottle of clam juice steaming from a car's hot exhaust pipe? Nothing. In case you need help imagining the smell, here's a little something to assist:
I assessed the situation and quickly realized I had glass scattered all over the garage, hot clam juice seeping into the concrete floor, and four bags of groceries in my arms (including enough fresh sea food to feed a small army), so I had to move quickly. I got the perishable groceries into the refrigerator, mopped up the clam juice, and began sweeping up glass. I am still amazed by the amount of shattered glass and the distance it traveled. I feel certain I will be writing a blog in the next few days titled, "The post where I tell you about my flat tire." I managed to get things fairly under control, then made myself a celebratory drink. After all, any day you are not the victim of a random drive-by shooting is a lucky day, right? My spare grocery bag was not so fortunate - its injury was fatal. Now I'm down to 699 spares in my trunk. Better buy another one, just in case.
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