Help is right in the wine aisles

I took my mother to the grocery store today. She has a habit of looking at everything, because New Orleans must have wildly different produce. Right?

Where I shop, wine displays dot the edge of the fruit section so that you naturally wander into the expanded wine section. In essence, my mom is a vintner's dream. She buys based on bottles and labels and reads each review posted by the shelf. The woman knows how to shop.

Contrast that with me. I shop to get just what I need. I don't read labels. I buy what is on my list. I get in and out in as little time as possible.

This is my excuse for not realizing that dear, laundry-queen, mom wasn't with me as I continued to gather the items on my list. I emerged from the rice aisle with what had to be a puzzled expression. A stock boy asked me if I needed help finding something.

"Yes," I replied. "My mother."

"Can't help you there, but we lose a lot of people in the liquor section."

She wasn't too far from there. I found her looking at pinot grigio.

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