Trader Joe's Woes

Overheard yesterday, in the Trader Joe’s pasta aisle

One hipster to another: “Hey, dude! It’s been awhile!”

“Yeah, man,” said the first. “I just got back from Sundance.”

Well, good for you, I thought, Mr. Skinny Pants

Guess what I’m “back from”? I considered rebuking

Being up all night with a kid who was puking

I examined his cart: no gluten, dairy or meats

And mine: cheese, wine, burgers, and plenty of sweets

I know that in Sundance, it’s only thirty degrees

But here in L.A., it’s hot. Take off your ski cap, guy. Please.

And while I wish I could enjoy hearing about your script

Magnanimity is a trait with which I’m no longer equipped

It’s awesome that you’ve got a new film to produce

But I’m here mainly because my kid needs some juice

You’re off to Palm Springs next? I’ll try not to be bitter

Even though my next trip is to go out for cat litter

Only in this town, does my ego take a beating

While I’m out shopping for what my family’s eating

If I don’t see a hipster with an award-winning script

There’s some goddess in yoga pants, her abs fully ripped

I thought I’d be fine if I avoided the Whole Foods thing

But even Trader Joe’s can inspire a terrible mood swing

“You’re old,” a little voice tells me, “And you’ll die in obscurity—

You use carbs, wine and cheese to help soothe insecurity”

As I approach the cash register, I break out in a sweat

It’s not a hot flash, is it? Dear God, please—not yet!

And I decide to offer myself one more silent prayer:

Don’t call me “ma’am,” cashier girl. I beg you—play fair.