There’s one piece of advice every financially cautious adult knows: never go grocery shopping on an empty stomach. I’ve heard it a hundred times. I’ve read it on budgeting blogs, seen it on wellness TikTok, even overheard it from grandmothers in produce aisles. And yet—on one fateful Wednesday evening, I ignored it.
I hadn’t eaten since lunch. My fridge was echoing. I was tired, cranky, and somehow convinced that I could do a “quick grocery trip” without it turning into a full-blown snack heist. My intention? Grab a few essentials for dinner. What I left with? Twelve varieties of cheese and a vague memory of how it all happened.
Let me set the scene. I walked in armed with a half-baked mental list: eggs, bread, and something green to prove I was still a functioning adult. The air was cool, the fluorescent lights oddly calming. Then I passed the sample table—a smiling employee offered me a cube of smoked gouda. That one bite was my undoing.
In that moment, I remembered all the cheeses I’d never tried. The ones that sounded fancy. The ones that had foreign labels and rustic packaging. Brie? Too creamy to resist. Havarti with dill? Obviously necessary. There was even a tiny wheel of truffle cheddar that cost more than my shampoo, and somehow I justified it as “a treat for future me.”
I didn’t stop at one or two. I spiraled.
By the time I reached the checkout lane, I had twelve cheeses in my cart—some soft, some sharp, one shaped like a heart, and one I couldn’t pronounce but bought because it looked like it belonged on a French picnic blanket. A bag of spinach did make it into my cart, as if that would cancel out my dairy-based downfall.
The cashier didn’t comment. She just gave me the polite, tight-lipped smile reserved for customers who clearly have no control over their lives. I respected her silence. I needed it.
When I got home, I sat on the couch surrounded by cheese like a culinary dragon hoarding lactose gold. I tried a slice of each. Some were incredible. Some tasted like salty glue. One made my entire apartment smell like feet and disappointment. But the bigger question lingered: Why did I do this?
Turns out, shopping while hungry doesn’t just make you impulsive—it can significantly distort your perception of what’s necessary. A study published in the journal JAMA Internal Medicine found that people shopping while hungry bought more high-calorie items than those who were full. It’s a survival response—your body, in a low-energy state, wants to stockpile comfort and calories. Cheese, apparently, was my body’s emergency language.
What’s more, grocery stores are designed to seduce you. Ever notice how the bakery and deli are near the entrance? Or how the cheese aisle has moody lighting and wooden boards for display? That’s no accident. Stores know your senses are their best allies. And when you’re hungry, every aroma becomes a sales pitch.
That night, I didn’t make dinner. I just snacked on cheese, scrolled through my phone, and questioned my life choices. But I also laughed at myself. Because sometimes adulthood isn’t about perfect self-control—it’s about learning from weird little disasters and forgiving yourself for acting like a raccoon in a supermarket.
I’ve since made a rule: never enter a store without at least a banana or a granola bar in my system. I’ve also embraced the reality that cheese is a personality trait now. My friends don’t even blink when I bring a mini cheese platter to casual hangouts. “It’s your thing,” they say. I nod. I accept it.
So if you ever find yourself at the checkout with a cart full of smoked, spreadable, and stinky regrets, don’t beat yourself up. It happens. Just maybe eat a snack next time.
Post a Comment