An Open Love Letter to Galen Weston

Dear Galen,

I need you to know how you have grown in my heart.

When you first started showing up in commercials with your baby face and pastel sweaters, I thought you were in direct conflict with the reality of your Superstore brand.

You see, while growing up, the yellow President’s Choice packaging was a mark of shame, the meat isle stunk, the produce section is where the city’s veggies went to die and your blood pressure took a roller coaster ride just walking through the store. With that in my memory as I started to shop for my family, I would have rather seared off my ear lobes than shop there voluntarily.

But Galen, your folksy sales pitches won me over. I came in because your sweet face said, “trust me, come into my place, it’ll be lovely to have you over.” And I did and now I have sipped on your soft-voiced kool-aid.

We are a family of five, and while 3 of those are children, our two one year olds eat like lumberjacks. I need to shop wisely.

And then my love, you brought me the rewards card. Thank you. You are saving me buckets of money each month. I call my husband on the way home from the store to tell him how many points I scored this time around. I geek out on Thursdays, looking at my app to see what deals you are gifting to me this week. You get me, your algorithms get me. You know what I love, you know what I need, sometimes your point offers tell me what I need, and I’m ok with that.

Waiting in the checkout line, I hear lovely ladies saying they will be saving their points to spend on their sweet grandchildren at Christmas time. Me? I’m throwing down those points faster than a drunk frat boy at a Vegas craps table.

And thank you Butter Buns, you don’t make my family eat the stinky meat or dead produce anymore. The best rib eyes we’ve had come from you; we feast on your bountiful harvest of produce and my kids eat the crust on your bread. Thank you.

Now I am sure you haven’t done this all by yourself. I’m sure you have small sweater-vest wearing minions are have done your bidding. Please pass some love along to them as well. And your friend Joe? Joe Fresh? Thank him also for clothing my children in the cutes.

In closing my dear. Thank you for being you. For taking my hand and leading me through your doors, for saving my family money when we need it most and turning grocery shopping into a pretty skookum experience (as long as I can do it child free).

Love you forever,

Shan

P.S. Packing my own groceries still sucks ass, but not everyone is perfect.

//

About Avoiding The Train Wreck

I like cheese. I am a odd duck, learning to parent my 3 kids while trying to ensure our world doesn't come to a crashing halt at any time. The chaos of our everyday in this home is like trying to prevent a colossal train wreck every single day. I provide pithy commentary on these daily adventures and I do not take myself too seriously. Pssst...neither should you. This is a place to continue my first (abandoned) attempts at blogging found here. I may also bring in a few previous posts from FB. And I like wine too.
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4 Responses to An Open Love Letter to Galen Weston

  1. Kari says:

    OMG this had me rolling… I know how shopping effects you, so I can only imagine you needed a step up from our friends at pc 😉

    Liked by 1 person

  2. This is hilarious, Shan. I have pre-Galen Superstore trauma (oh my god the Marine Drive store), so I rarely venture there, but they have an AWESOME cheese section. So much cow, goat, sheep dairy goodness in one place. It’s almost worth trying to push a cart down an aisle where, invariably, someone has broken a package of rice that is now spilled all over the floor. In my experience, there is either a barrier or a hazard to navigation around every turn in a Superstore.

    Liked by 1 person

  3. Karen Leveque says:

    Joe! Joe! Joe!

    Liked by 1 person

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