I'm Just Not That Into You

Chapter 1

SO. Here's another story from me!!!

I really like this story and I think it will just flow, so much easier than Guarding You ever did. I like this project so much more but don't be afraid; I'm not going to end the project, I'm just putting it on hold until I have more time on my hand to write it and brainstorm good ways to write such a socially diverse story. 

I'm Just Not That Into You is an original work, thought of years ago that I'm finally getting around to writing. I love the characters, the plot, and the overall story. I hope you do to.

With so much love,

-A

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I hate grocery shopping.

It’s not even that I’m clumsy in that weirdly cute way. I don’t knock things off of shelves and have to have the metaphorical hot employee with the dreamy eyes help me clean up and then make eye contact and it would be love at first sight and all that crap. It also not because I’m poor and it’s depressing or something like that, either. 

No, I just hate the grocery store because...well, just because. I find it extremely tedious and boring, two things that bug the ever living crap out of me. I would rather clean toilets all day then go grocery shopping and my mom knows it. But no, she had to go on and on about how I needed “diversity in my domestic life” or some bullshit like that. Honestly, I think she’s making me do this because I interrupted her meditation yesterday, but I don’t know if she’s that devious. 

Now, before you get all these images about my mom being some crazy, hippie lady, hold your horses. My mom is a respected nurse at West Baptist Hospital, off of highway nine. She’s a good nurse, working allot of hours to support out family, but she’s also a bit...different. See, her mom, my grandmother, grew up in the sixties and was a total peace-loving, diehard hippie. So, she adopted some of these ideas and developed a lifestyle which she calls “easy living.” Basically, she’s parents Mitch, my younger brother, and I by teaching us how to fend for ourselves and just live. It’s been effective so far. I mean, she’s gotten me all the way to my senior year, if that counts for something. 

Back to grocery shopping, I groan in my head as I walk down the freezer aisle, my elbows hanging over the handle as I push lazily. I seriously cannot believe that Catherine made me do this. I am so not watching TV with her tonight. I don’t care if Breaking Bad is on, I will watch it later this week on my computer.

Oh, Catherine is my mom, by the way. I call her by her first name on two occasions: one, when I need to get her attention and she hasn’t responded to “mom”, and when I’m mad or irritated with her. And right now, I’m definitely mad and irritated. 

I grab some frozen chicken nuggets and throw them in the cart before marking them it off of the list. Pushing the cart, I start to head towards check out, but my phone buzzes. Pausing, I stop and reach into my jacket pocket and pull out my phone. I roll my eyes as soon as I see who it’s from, knowing the content is just my idiot brother reminding me to grab his bomb pops. 

After I’ve gone down a different aisle to fill his request, I make my way down to the next aisle to pick out the meat for the week. It’s not a huge selection, seeing as the town I live in, McKinley, is pretty small, but the meat is quality cut because it’s supplied by the local butcher, Mr. Samsa. 

I throw some chicken breasts and a four steaks into the cart (Mitch will eat two so that’s what the extra one is for). I head over to the checkout after I’ve marked the last items off of the list, grumbling as I do, completely bored and completely ready to go home. I look around as I get to the front of the store and notice that only one checkout lane is open, the one with the old lady with the mole above her lip. Yay me.