Gripping an empty shopping basket, I stand befuddled inside the entrance of my favorite local grocery store. With 20 minutes to scavenge dinner before a meeting at church, surrounded by an obscene plethora of food, I am completely paralyzed.
While it would have been wise to have packed dinner at home, I'm not that smart. So I wander the store like a lion on the hunt.
I've purposed to spend no more than five dollars. Frankly, what would be a sizable amount to many around the globe feels sacrificial to me. Today I'll be hard pressed to stay on budget and consume the tasty flesh of a farm animal, potato-based carbohydrate, vegetable or fruit serving, and delicious beverage to which I feel entitled between the hours of 5:30 and 7 p. m.
If cost were my only concern, I'd grab a 10-serving bag of store-brand Cheetos, and a 79-cent two-liter of generic orange soda. But, of course, there's that pesky "nutrition" business. In seventh grade science at Hadley Junior High, I learned all about the dangers of calories (#firstworldproblem). I was warned that "fat" was the enemy—until "transfat" was exposed as the real evil, arch-villain of nutrition. Exclusive of cost, the nutrition calculations are dizzying in themselves.
Wandering through the dairy section, a serving of strawberry yogurt catches my eye. Convenient. Affordable. Nutritious. Tasty.
I glance at the eight-serving tub. Though it uses fewer packaging materials than eight individual servings, I'd have to walk all the way to the church kitchen to refrigerate it during my meeting.1