So I get some reading done at the local B&N—a little Houellebecq, a little InStyle—and then I think, Maybe on the way back home I’ll stop and get some fruit. Seems innocent enough. . . so how come an hour and $18.63 later, belting out “The Boys of Summer” in the rain, I’m lugging home a couple of pears; a hunk of Manchego; another hunk of creamy, dreamy Brie de Meaux; a box of olive oil and sea salt crackers; six English muffins; and a bottle of Fizzy Lizzy cranberry juice?