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It’s 7:30 p.m. and I am sitting in my car outside my gym after my work out, trying to decide if I can put off going to the store for one more day.

I talk myself into thinking I don’t need milk.

It’s almost 8 by the time I weave through traffic and climb the steep stairs to my house. It doesn’t take long to regret my decision.

I stare at my open cupboards. They are a smorgasbord of snacks: popcorn, chips, trail mix … marshmallows. It’s like storage space for an upcoming Girls Scouts camping trip. There is nothing in there of substance.

I squat in front of my fridge.

I really don’t want eggs again tonight, I think.

I stand up and survey my cupboards.

I squat and peer into my fridge.

This goes on for several rounds, as if I am on a teeter-totter by myself.

I do this little exercise more frequently than  I would like to admit. I don’t enjoy grocery shopping. And even when I do it I never know the right collection of items to buy for a week’s worth of full-course meals. That requires forethought and looking up recipes and, of course, money.

But this time, I can’t even eat cereal, the ultimate dinner cop-out, because I don’t have milk.

This is unglamorous side of living alone .