This little Piggly Wiggly is a market…

Mother Hubbard’s cupboard is bare. The pantry, fridge and freezer are showing a lot of empty spaces as we are running low on a lot of items. However, some hit the critical phase this morning.

* No flour for making bread, therefore,

* No homemade bread, and no store bought either.

* No eggs for breakfast or baking. (And boy! I can’t wait for farm fresh eggs again. Those pale yolks in store bought eggs are past pathetic.)

* No toilet paper for… well, you know. For putting in the bathroom, right!?

Both The Farmer and Young Son are working today, so I had to drive myself to the store. To most people, that’s not such a big deal, but driving aggravates my pain, so I don’t do it very often.

That being the case, I opted for the closest store, which is – you guessed it! Piggly Wiggly.

I’d never heard of Piggly Wiggly until we moved to the south. The name still makes me laugh, but it’s a convenient 3 miles away, so to paraphrase the nursery rhyme a little …

To market, to market, to buy at Piggly Wiggly;
Home again, home again, a fast jiggety-jiggly.