"I ask not for the great, the remote, the romantic; ... I embrace the common, I explore and sit at the feet of the familiar, the low." —Emerson

So the other day, I walked to Fresh and Easy to get my weekly loaf of bread. Fresh and Easy invariably has wonderful samples; this time it was tiny slices of pizza and little cups of shrimp and salsa. I love coming in early in the day, because they brew fresh coffee, and really, there's nothing like free coffee.

There's nothing like grocery shopping, either. Bright lights and neat rows, health and sustenance and satisfaction. I liked shopping for six at home, driving to the store alone and reveling in the rare independence of late adolescence, turning the radio to whatever station I wanted and singing loud and unrestrained, knowing that no one could possibly hear me. I liked having the latitude to buy large quantities and varieties, trying to figure out what would be both nutritious and eaten by everyone.

But I like the freedom I have now of just shopping for myself, too. Whatever I buy, I am going to eat. I don't have to please anyone but myself, don't have to worry about anything going to waste. I know I'll enjoy it.

And that's what I did, bought exactly what I wanted. I meandered down the aisles and consulted my own taste. And then I saw the multipack of reusable containers. Reusable containers are a strange mixture of domesticality and financial security. People with tupperware have the time and money to buy extraneous storage units and sort their sundries. People with tupperware are organized and well-adjusted. Clearly, tupperware must be a fairly accurate indicator of prosperity. Clearly, I've been effectively marketed to, and clearly, I don't care. Disposable reusables, moreover, have enchanted me since their advent some time in the late '90s. They'd last almost as long as traditional tupperware, but require a significantly smaller initial investment. I had some in my dorm already, but, after looking at the bag of salted pistachios in my hand, I realized I really wanted a couple in smaller sizes so that I could conveniently bring nuts to work for my lunch break. I didn't really need the magical variety, but it was only five dollars. And so I thought, why not?

And so I felt freedom in my impulsiveness, and luxury in my abundance. Of reusable containers.