Milk n’ Honey under the China Sun

Do you ever buy something juts because you like the label? Apparently I do.

Today I took a nice long stroll through my new neighborhood’s grocery store. It’s a different chain than I’m used to, so I took the time to go up and down all the isles to take in all the new products and try to find the familiar ones. It was fun and I picked up a couple new products to bring home. These unplanned items were selected entirely because I liked the look of them.

When I saw this little guy I stopped in my tracks and stood there like a dumb idiot with a day-dreamy look on my face for I don’t know how long. Oh. My. God. the cutest cow ever! Excusez-moi, vache à lait au chocolat. I just wanted to be in this milk carton image -but not in a missing person kinda way. I saw a cartoon version of myself, in pigtails and a blue dress, saying “yes friend cow, I will drink chocolate milk with you!” and then pulling out my own soda-shop straw and diving in.

Anything that can give me a public cartoon daydream gets put directly in the cart.

Honey was on my list, but I was planning on buying my standard bear-shaped-jar variety. Then I saw this lovely little label. It made me feel wholesome, home-grown, feminine, fun, greatly free and patriotic. That’s right, Canada is more than maple syrup didn’t you know? Now we are famous for our cranberry honey too … apparently. Bees, cranberries and trees teaming up, playing some hockey, there was probably a beaver around, they all go out for a beer -they pay with toonies -and then they make kick ass honey. A weird version of Lady Antebellum’s American Canadian Honey started plying in my brain, mixed in with O Canada, sung by Celine Dion and the Barenaked Ladies.

Anything that can get a fictional musical collaboration stuck in my head goes directly in the cart.

I almost didn’t buy this Hoisin Sauce. It was on the list, needed for what I’m cookin’ up this week, but I didn’t want to buy it. I searched the shelves desperately for another brand because I didn’t like the look of this label. It’s too stark and simple, the fonts are militaristic, the lines are regimental. There is no creativity here, just stern jar-label dictatorship.  It made me sad to buy it. It looked crummy in the cart among all my fresh fruits and veggies, it lorded over my adorable milk and honey.

The scary part about all this is that the only thing that seemed to matter to me about these items were the labels. The milk could have been expired and the honey a hundred dollars. Actually it probably was a hundred bucks,  where’s that  receipt!? So learnt something about  myself today: I am a vain, horrible shopper who is a slave to her impulses and messed up imagination. I’m really not surprised.

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