to bag or not to bag

So I'm in Superstore. I'm buying chocolates for a dinner party. Not a formal dinner party, obviously, or I wouldn't be buying them from Superstore. I ponder Lindor, ToffeeFe, Ferrero Roche. Higher end chocolates all, and probably the next best thing to buying them from a specialty chocolate shop - which I would have done if only I had thought of it in time.

But no, that would be too easy. And since it's one extreme or the other with me, my eyes fall, instead, on the Turtles. That's Turtles as in, "mmmmm, I love Turtles!" and "Turtles, Turtles, rah, rah, rah!" There's no pretense with Turtles, I know this, and very little quality (and this is a European dinner party I'm on my way to, which means they know, too) but there are lots to go around and they're something you can really sink your teeth into. So I snag 'em. Easy-peasy.

Of course, this part isn't the actual story. It really starts here:

I go to the cashier, now, to pay, and this is where things start to fall apart. I hand her the box and go for my debit card. "Would you like a bag?" she asks.

"A bag?" I respond. I hadn't thought about a bag, what with my hurry to get across town, a 20 minute journey, in, oh, seven minutes. A bag? I wasn't sure. Should I take the bag? Did I need the bag? It was only one item, and the bags at Superstore cost 4 cents each.

"No," I tell her, as the thought simultaneously hits me that the 4 cents is hardly going to break the bank. "I mean, yes," I correct. But it's only one item. I can carry it without a bag. And I have too many already stuffed into my kitchen drawer. "No." Then again, why not? "Yes." Of course, I'm not going to present the chocolates - not even Turtles - in a white, plastic bag from Superstore, or any store. "Ummm. . . "

And then it hit me. I'm having a Hamlet moment over a 4 cent bag. It's just a bag. There is no wrong answer in the greater scheme of things.

Going back to school, or not; prioritizing my time; donating how much? to a fund that helps children whose limbs have been blown off in a war; looking for a new job - these are decisions that currently need my attention. Don't distract me over such trivialities as whether or not I should say yes to a bag.

In the end, I took the bag - but only to put a stop to the madness. I carried it out, set it on my front car seat, and sped away to the party arriving only four minutes late (and two minutes before the other guests). When I arrived, I took the Turtles out and left the bag on the floor, where it continues to reside as I write this. The problem now? After all that, I can't decide what to do with it to make it all worth while.