I used to mock my dad for telling me stories about he’d be able to fill up in ’65 Mustang with gas for $0.31 per gallon. He can tell you how much he paid for hamburger back in 1972, along with how much he’d pay for milk ounce for ounce. (Sixty-two cents per gallon, by the way, compared to the $8 I spend today. That’s because I’m convinced grass-fed cows are treated more nicely than factory farm cows, but I digress.)
When I was a cashier at the A&P, a family-sized six-pack of paper towels used to be under $3. I remember, because there were no scanners, and I had to punch in the prices manually.
(Please hold. The five-minute timer just went off on my Polident.)
Today, as the shelves on every grocery store I’d visited have been empty with the exception of some straggling individual rolls of Sparkle, I had to place this order.
Suddenly, my dad’s not as funny as he used to be.