‘honey, is it the apocalypse?’

there are few things more frightening to me, apparently, than seeing a near-empty produce aisle.

we went to waitrose for some salad and fishcakes and booze et cetera, and when we walked in something deep inside my american being seized up.

i’m used to the big grocery stores that stay open twenty-four hours a day. they might close early on thanksgiving and christmas day, but never before dark, and certainly never for more than twelve hours.

apparently here, the shops close for two solid days.

panic. panic.

apocalypse.

panic.

thoughts of zombies.

panic.

what if tomorrow i want fresh fruit and a little pot of stupid poncey waitrose sauce or chutney or something?

we ran into friends whose wedding i had attended earlier this year, and mr. english pointed to me and said ‘she’s panicking a little.’ i looked at them with very wide eyes. ‘what if i’m hungry later?’ i asked them.

there was no reply.

this builds on the smaller shock i had already prepared for, of not being able to walk to the corner after midnight on a tuesday and buy a gigantic bag of chocolate covered raisins or tortilla chips or some translucent tape or a fifty pack of dvd’s or something. in my last apartment in chicago there was a cvs right outside the front door. i could have gone in my pyjamas. (well, not that i would have. my roommates did, but they lack class and a sense of propriety. i, however, put on a fucking dress to do my laundry.)

i argue that this panic must be some kind of evolutionary response to my food source suddenly seeming to go dry. as though, i explained on our walk home so i didn’t seem so crazy, i had gone to my berry bush and all the berries were gone. sure, more will grow eventually. but what will i do tomorrow?

anyway. i got through it. i demanded a hug, and i drank a cold diet pepsi, and those things seemed to calm me down. also, i really do need a zombie contingency plan here. i think i need to ask which of our friends has the safest, most undead-proof house.