I stopped at a convenience store because I needed to poke in a bit of window trim that had come loose on my in-laws’ aging van, which they have graciously let my wife and I use indefinitely–and which I was driving because our recently purchased car was in the shop.  So I was arguably preoccupied.

Still, I had the ice from a large iced tea I had purchased half a mile up the hot highway; and I had other snacks I bought to make it worth a card swipe, having no cash.  All understandable.  And, because I hate to use someone’s space and not at least genuflect in the direction of their commercial interests, I walked inside, telling myself I would pick up a bottled tea to pour in the ice.

So why did I walk out with two bags of snacks, too?  Bags I didn’t want, really?  Bags which neither spared me needing dinner, later, nor helped to contribute to any goal, nor satisfied any strange-place curiosity, nor were a rarely-found favorite, nor provided me any reasonable good?

Because I saw them and I craved.

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