Max Stout:
After I had gone round the grocery store loading up my cart for my milk and cookie binge the other day I briefly crossed glances with the wife of a former co-worker and her children and—upon her having said hi and my name—rather than stopping and talking as I otherwise have the few times I have chanced to see her in public in the twelve years since that job, I just chirped a quick hello and beelined to the checkout aisle furthest removed from said chance encounter and out the door.
All of which now has me pondering whether there ought to be some kind of exchange program where those interested in diving headlong into the fat side could be far removed, perhaps even to completely different continents, to live out their days without risk of any such mortifying experiences as I just described; ha.
Imma level with ya, chief. You are overthinking this. No one at the grocery store cares what you are buying. No one is looking into your buggy.
And even if they did, there's nothing that looks weird. The only time people will raise an eyebrow is if you are buying things that suggest something nefarious or if you are buying truly excessive amounts of something.
Like if you bought 2 buggies full of nothing but cookies.
And even then, no one will pay attention to you that much. They have their own shit to do.
