In the early afternoon hours of Sunday, my consort and I willingly quit the house to tackle the challenge of the biweekly grocery trip. I use "willingly" in a playful sense. Willingly as in not at all voluntarily. Yesterday, we made things doubly, possibly triply, difficult for ourselves—as we are wont to do.
Grocery list at the ready, we make our way to Lowes Foods. But then—! There, in the depths of backward thinking, arose an idea so illogical as to make perfect sense. "Let's stop at Wal-Mart first," says the spouse. "I need to get socks." I nod sagely. I hear the hymn, "Holy, Holy, Ho—ly" when I see Miles in his stockinged feet...and they really don't smell pleasant enough to be considered divine.
Miles grabs a cart as we pass the threshold to the mart of wals, and I ponder to myself, "How many socks is he planning on getting?" I also take a moment to ponder why I hear so many people call shopping carts "buggies" in the South, but that is off subject.
Moments upon entering, he takes a sharp swerve to the right. We are in the produce section, speeding rapidly in the direction of the frozen vegetables. I stop in my tracks and my gaze pierces his left shoulder blade with such intensity that he jerks around counterclockwise, his stabbed shoulder blade an axis, to face me. "Well, I figure we'll get the frozen, canned, and dry stuff here, you know? Lowes has better produce, but they can't match these prices." Made sense to me.
As the clerk is tallying our bill, we are feeling pretty good about ourselves, if not slightly embarrassed at the volume of instant pudding mixes peppering the cart. What a selection they had! Pistachio and banana cream, butterscotch and lemon, chocolate and vanilla—oh they had 'em all! Sugar free-n-fat free! BLISS! With a delightfully low bill, the pudding-laden cart rides off into the sunset of our trunk.
Now, onto Lowes Foods. We arrive on a high. We have just filled the trunk with the riches of pudding—what's there to be low about, after all? We tick the fruit and vegetables off of the list as the cart fills quickly. We are not happy with the bakery selection...well I am not happy with the bakery section. I like my whole wheat, my multi-grain, and my fiber...don't give me that doughy white stuff, you hear?
Miles pipes in, "We'll go to Harris Teeter. You love their bakery section. We'll stop." My voice is best described as mewling as I try to get a word in edgewise. Three grocery stores in one day? To borrow my brother's phraseology, that's some kind of daffy. "I've already decided," he declared, and we made our leave.
We arrive in the beautiful bakery at Harris Teeter, and while I am cooing to the wheaty selection, Miles is rolling his eyes. My love of carbs is well documented and I need say no more. We pay for our bread and leave the store...my forehead is throbbing. Three grocery stores. Three! When did we get so picky?
We approached a Food Lion as we made our return journey home. Deftly, Miles turned into the the parking lot and said, "We might as well hit 'em all." He jumped out of the car. My head was aching. I stayed. He returned with Pepsi for himself, a diet Snapple Peach Ice Tea for me. "I just realized that we've been shopping for almost 4 hours!" he relays. I fix my eyes to be the poster child of pitiful, and nod my head druggedly, ever so carefully. "I'm satisfied. Let's go home," he all but sings. I press the cool glass bottle of my favorite drink against my temple and allow my head to loll to the side as he drives on.
Several trips from the trunk to the house would follow, and several grunts of, "I don't know how this is going to fit," too. With all of that pudding tucked safely away, freshly painted, "Duck When Opening" signs for the cupboards, refrigerator, and freezer, and the next fortnight's menu posted, I indulged in a pear. And, as temperament would have it, a prescription strength Ibuprofen.
