Choices, Choices, Confused Immigrant

The one thing that confused me was the magnitude of choices in the stores. On the island, there were only two grocery stores like the ones here. Most of our shopping was done at little neighborhood shops. They were small wooden buildings owned by someone in the village. You can buy sugar, butter, lard and rice by the pound and everything is weighed right before your eyes. I always wonder what makes one brand better than the next. Are we paying for quality or name? Is it taste? I never knew about junk food. I mean, my snacks consisted of me going to my back yard and picking some mangoes or sapadillas, or guavas, or any kind of tropical fruit I wanted. You know what is strange? Like everyone else, I found myself addicted to it. I went from one hundred and forty seven pounds to three hundred pounds. That was in less than a year until my bloody chicken legs rebelled. I always wonder what the fascination with chocolate is in this country. I have seen people eat it, their face twisted like they were in the middle of having an orgasm, but then again, I can understand why. I am seven feet one inch tall of pure chocolate all day every day and I love myself. The main thing I had to get used to when shopping was the taxes added on. On the island, whatever price you saw is what the item cost. For the first two years, I would always go by the price I saw on the item. Needless to say, I was always short.

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