Standing there among the hungry single women, I'd make a good show of trying to decide between the Weight Watcher's grilled chicken with vegetables and the Lean Cuisine chicken piccata, while secretly eyeballing the mouthwatering photos on the boxes of Marie Callender's fried chicken or Stouffer's lasagna with meat sauce. As we all stood before the freezers' insulated glass doors, many hours were spent discussing the merits of fewer calories versus flavor, while we cast longing, surreptitious glances at the "full flavor" (aka meals with 1,000 calories and 40 grams of fat) meals.
I would chat and wait patiently as everyone made their meal selections and slowly departed the frozen food aisle. Looking up and down the aisle to make sure the coast was clear, I would quickly pounce on my favorite meal. With speed reminiscent of Jackie Joyner-Kersee, I'd sprint to those luscious looking fat and calorie-laden frozen meals and quickly stuff one in my cart.
After leaving the aisle, I took great care to make sure the contraband was hidden under something large enough that no part of it was visible. Knowing that when I reached the cash register to check out, there would inevitably be another female in line who would scrutinize my purchases.
Having been questioned by the cart police on a previous calorie-laden purchase, I made sure to hide my meal well. Being subjected to the raised eyebrow of shame from the cart police once was enough to make most females never step foot near that part of the freezer section again.
Oh, but not this redhead. Whether I ate the divine ooey-gooeyness of a chicken pot pie, or let it sit in my freezer so long it built up a frost so thick it could have been mistaken for the iceberg that sunk the Titanic, it did not matter. It became a challenge to see whether I could make it all the way through the store and through the check-out lane without getting caught.
I started going through the same cashier's line every week after she saw the meal's location on the conveyor belt (hidden between the toilet paper and the multi-pack of facial tissues) and, with a sly grin, distracted shoppers in her lane. She quickly scanned the meal and shoved it to the bottom of the grocery bag before anyone was the wiser.
She wasn't a redhead, but she was feisty enough that I'm pretty sure it must have been in her bloodline. Together, we foiled the calorie-counting cart police for a good year before I met my husband and we started dating and got married.
With having a significant other, I was no longer subjected to the cart police's scrutiny.............. until I had children.........
Written by Christie Bielss
