Transitioning into adulthood is a scary, scary thing. There are so many steps we have to take before being thrust into reality, with its bills and jobs and kids. But thankfully, the world is wired so that we are able to take itty bitty baby steps into adulthood. One of those itty bitty baby steps is grocery shopping by yourself. In the past, you’d accompany your mother to the supermarket and insist that she buy you every single unhealthy food that graced the shelves, from Dunk-a-Roos to Cheetos. She’d tell you to “stop nagging her” and that your teeth would fall out of your head if you ate like that. You’d watch begrudgingly as she put vegetables and foods with names like cous-cous and kale into the cart.

But now, oh now, you’re a big bad adult and the cart is in your hands. You can take whatever you want off the shelves and there’s no one there to slap your hand away. You want to subsist solely off of Reese’s cups and Ramen noodles? Fine, that’s your choice. You want to fully embrace in your inner health guru and only shop at Whole Foods and buy things like spa water and kale salad? Totally your call. Grocery shopping is a signal that you’re beginning your journey into adulthood. But honestly, it’s not an easy task. It’s a whole ordeal of doing inventory and making lists and allotting time and effort and money to make sure you don’t come home and realize you forgot the one item you so desperately needed. It’s a process, and here I’ve outlined the steps:

You check your fridge and realize that the shelves are as empty as your love life.

You decide that Tuesday, in the hour and five minutes you have in between class and work, you can totally navigate the aisles of Trader Joe’s and get everything you’ll need for the next week.

Tuesday, you set out with your spirits high, reusable shopping bags in hand.

You arrive at Trader Joe’s and spent ten minutes exploring the flower selection outside before you realize that you’re allergic to pollen and getting flowers is not a wise choice—but you get a bouquet anyways.

You stumble upon the produce section and get way too much fruit that will inevitably go rotten within forty-five minutes of arriving at home.

“Kale? Yes, I will totally eat a pound of kale in a week! Look at me being all healthy, hell yeah.”

The frozen food section has a better selection of deliciousness than frat boys at a Pike mixer, and you can’t help but succumb to the irresistible temptations of macaroni and cheese, pizza, taquitos, and chicken nuggets.

If you make out of the freezer section alive and free of frostbite because of the amount of time you spent there, you enter upon the dairy section and take no survivors as you throw gourmet cheese after gourmet cheese into your increasingly growing cart.

You trudge to the checkout, your cart heavy with items you have completely forgotten you put in there, where the bill rings up to a number you can’t even bring yourself to say because it’s triple your budget and the thought of your parents’ reaction to seeing your monthly statement is scarier than your hair the morning after a wild night out.

You feel like the Grinch as you load bag after bag after bag into your car before you go home and attempt to crowd the pointless items you bought into a cramped, shared fridge, before you realize that you completely forgot eggs, milk, and every other essential item you need.

But damn, those chicken gyoza hit the spot.