My new favorite activity is going to Fresh Market.  In case you don’t have one in your neck of the woods, I’m sorry.  Fresh Market is a heavenly grocery store on 54th and College.

See, Isn't it cute?

I hate to even call it a grocery store, because it is so much more.  It is my happy place.

I’ve created a new ritual of going to Fresh Market after church on Sundays,  and it just might be my favorite thing I do in a week.  You walk along beautiful hard wood floors.  Right now, it smells like warm Christmas the sec those automatic doors swing open.  Lovely classical music provides the accompaniment to the selecting-the-ripe-avocado-waltz.  Do I sound a little hyperbolic?  Ok, probably a little, but shut up you can’t judge me for what I love.

On more than a few occasions, I’ve gone to the store after having a bit of a rough day and all my troubles are forgotten by the time I leave.

It’s not only the experience, but it’s the products.  OY!  There are times when I only go in to buy a nice ripe avocado and I come home sea scallops, 3 different kinds of cheeses and pomegranate balsamic vinegar (true story and the pomegranate balsamic is the bomb.com).

When I am there shopping, it is clear that I don’t belong.  I walk in disheveled (because let’s be honest, I’m always disheveled) wearing my red coat that now has 2 buttons missing.  The other people in the store are older, wealthier foodies.  Jenn described it going in there and immediately thinking about her tennis lesson.  Jenn doesn’t play tennis.  Everyone there just seems like they’d have a tennis lesson they should be attending.  You can tell the few children in the store are on there way to private oboe lessons.

I used to think that I could never feel satisfied in a life where I stayed at home and didn’t have job.  Well, if I could be a housewife and just run errands to Fresh Market, I would gladly retire tomorrow.