No matter which affiliation or orientation or denomination, we all worship at this temple.
It is the Temple of the Tummy. The colloquial definition is a grocery. No matter what your age or occupation or income or creed or…. We all get hungry and go to the Temple of the Tummy.
We give praises to the pears; we sing tributes to the tomatoes; we give hallelujahs to the halibut; we sing carols to the carrots.
No matter the time of day or the lack of dress code, we walk up and down the aisles receiving our bounty from the abundance given by the Temple of the Tummy. When the selections seem bare, our ushers restock for our obsession with obesity. Oh for the greatness of gluttony.
The congregation fills their carts with every variation for any faith. Non-gluten, vegan, lactose intolerant are all welcomed and accommodated. Whether frozen or fresh or boxed or canned, precooked or raw or in some configuration in between, the Temple of the Tummy provides for our every need. The Temple of the Tummy can provide to cleanse your body, ease your sniffles, entertain your children, and change water into grape juice.
As the lines of tithing for our riches, each is tempted with sugar treats and heathen teachings of questionable journalism. Using paper or plastic, our gastric adventure into bloating, flatulence, constipation, diarrhea, and all sort of others malefactions continues. Even after all our trials and tribulations, we return to the Temple of the Tummy for we must to survive.
I attend the Temple of the Tummy according to the book of Kroger each and every day. I along with the grazers and the readers and the confused and the wanderers and the cookers and the micro-wavers and the couponers and the scooters and the old and the young and the families and the lost souls in the Temple of the Tummy have read the recipe book and have my list and check the ingredients to leave with substance to prolong my existence.
I praise the Temple of the Tummy for its ability to provide entertainment and provisions to maintain my wellbeing and fill my belly.
So why are you closed at Christmas? Santa needs to eat.