Bagaholic

Someone came across this site via the search terms "if you have any of these qualities you are a douche bag." I still feel like I don't really know in the most definitive psychological terms what that means. All I know is that I don't want to be caught up in figuring that out ANYMORE. I read somewhere that guys who wear pink Izod shirts with the collar up are douche bags. I think it would be the same for adults in tie die shirts and cowrie shell necklaces, so I've been looking out for people dressed that way, with some degree of affection. Because it takes a certain strength and entitlement to be willing to stand out like a sore thumb. I can imagine a whole cadre of men and women dressed like that parading down the street claiming their freedom to be themselves even if it makes some people uncomfortable or if they warrant the hairy eyeball from the black clad contemptorrati.

I wonder how many people dressed as douche bags for Halloween, I'm sure some did. Maybe Party City will come out with the sexy douche bag get up for next year's Ho-laween, which they can sell along with the sexy nurse, policewoman, biker, pirate, zombie, opera singer, Pikachu... If only I could douche my brain.

Meanwhile, I'm wondering if I'll ever get over my addiction to plastic bags. I have an entire cabinet stuffed with Key Food bags, they fall out when I open the door, and when I've got my act together enough to mail a gift to someone, I find the knotted bags make excellent packing materials. But I'm not delighted that I forget to bring some kind of cloth bag to the store every single time I step out to shop. I have a million tote bags with little animals on them sent as gifts for donating to the Nature Conservancy, etc., and they continue to gather dust in the closet. Because they don't make me feel hip.

Last time I was at Whole Foods I bought one of their light-weight canvas shopping bags for a dollar. I know I'll be a walking advertisement but I have to pick my evils so I went for their bag with an appealing rendering of grapes surrounded by copy in fonts I rarely see, so what the heck. I know, it's not Hermes, but I don't usually carry peanut butter in any of my designer bags, that is, I wouldn't if I had them.

Pumpkins Organic Market, in South Slope on the corner of 8th Avenue and 13th Street provides reused plastic bags, they meticulously fold the bags into small triangles that fit perfectly into the palm of your hand. They keep them piled up in an oblong basket by the register. It takes my breath away. It's hard for me to figure out how it could happen: that anyone living in this city would have the time to take something so insignificant and treat it with so much grace and thoughtfulness. But this thought is coming from the mother of 3 children. It's just one of the many eccentric and surprising things about Pumpkins that has won me over. Dropping in there also reminds me of entering one of those so called living museums like Williamsburg, VA or Historic Richmond Town in Staten Island.