I’m in love with our shiny new neighborhood Publix. Not only am I always asked, with heartfelt sincerity, if I need help out with my groceries, but all the employees are friendly, unlike Kroger where everyone seems to be about 10 minutes overdue for their smoke break.
Yesterday when I was checking out and secretly praying that Amelia would stay in the cart for just 30 more seconds, the clerk asked to see my ID for the six pack of Blue Moon beer I was buying. He looked at my birth date on the front of my driver’s license and said, “Well, I would never guess that. I really thought you were under 30.” (I’ll be 38 in August.)
And thus, my unabashed love for Publix was sealed. Forever.