Because the Internet has reduced my brain to a 10-watt bulb that needs stimulation every four seconds, I clicked on a link that promised to rank all the grocery-store list-making smartphone apps. The first one let you enter your list by typing or talking, and you could sort things into categories. It had a red icon. The last one let you enter your list by typing or talking, and you could sort things into categories.
It had a blue icon.
Several apps incorporated social media, of course. When you'd checked off every item, you could post news of your victory to Facebook, in case you're the type to get up on your roof with a megaphone and shout "ALL STOCKED UP ON SOUP NOW" and wait for scattered applause.
I have one of these apps, and while it isn't perfect, it beats the old way. Before shopping, I'd ask: Anyone need anything? NO. Sure? WE'RE GOOD. If you were smart, you'd sit in the garage for five minutes, then go back in the house and ask again.
"Oh, right, we need bleach." Any kind? "Bleach. There's no kind." Scented? "No scent." So there is another kind, then. "Weren't you just going?"
Wouldn't it be great if you could just type "bleach" into a grocery-list app on your phone and avoid all this? But first you'd have to get someone in the house to admit you need bleach, and you'd have to type it in with your cold, stubby finger. GET BLERCH. Or your partner would add it to the list, and you'd come back with bleach, all proud of yourself. "Where's the blerch? I asked you to get blerch! We have six people coming over for dinner, and I need blerch!"
Most grocery-list apps allow you to separate items according to rows in the supermarket, which is brilliant. How many times do you turn into the bread aisle and think, "Oh, so that's where they're hiding it." The app can send you an alert when you are in the bread aisle, telling you to buy bread, which means you might have the process of selecting bread interrupted by the need to take out your phone and see an alert that says BUY BREAD. It beats having someone follow you around and jab you in the thigh with a hatpin and say "get whole wheat." But not by much.
I always buy bread, because no one ate the last loaf and it's now stale. But you have to have bread. If someone wants to make grilled cheese sandwich and says, "There's no bread! Why is there no bread?" you could reply: "There are no marinated monkey glands, either, to name something else we never use."
