The Sample Bar At Trader Joe's.

No, don’t look at me like that, Mother of Three, as you try the quinoa-pasta with arrabiata sauce and a noodle falls out of your mouth and onto your white shirt. Your kids make fun of you, pointing and singing, “Nanny nanny boo boo!”

Never look me in the eyes, Sweet Old Lady, as you park yourself by the coffee station and basically sip eighteen mini-cups of Ethiopian blend instead of forking over $2 at a Starbucks. You are blocking the container of soy creamer, and people are rolling their eyes behind your back.

Absolutely not, Cute Guy With Dreads, I won’t witness you shoving gorgonzola flavored crackers into your mouth as the crumbs fall on your beard, as you simultaneously chop and shop, as you accidentally push a cart full of greens into another man’s calf. The Cruciferous Crunch is out of stock thanks to you.

What is it about a sample bar that makes us go insane? free food! Free Food! FREE FOOD! I once had an ex-boyfriend who would drive twelve miles to Costco for lunch, just so that he could fill up on little tastes at no charge.  What is it about us and snacks?

Tiny bites of lastima. Dixie cups and mini spoons. Glimpses into mouths I never wanted to see. A peek at strangers chewing and digesting - we all do it the same way. The pitiful line we rush into, eager and hungry and committed to a good deal, especially when it’s extra tasty and then a huddle forms around the grill.

Enjoy the morsels, fellow humans, let it break up the monotony of buying food. But please don’t try to meet my gaze. I’ll be too busy hiding near the peanut butter, crying about the way your jaw moves or how silly it is to swallow, to take a bite with you.

p.s. Unless it’s wine. If they have wine samples, I’m in.