And she’ll say: “Succotash! It’s got lima beans in it! And lima beans are lima beans! And chili is not a vegetable!”
Here we go. “I’ll be in the man room with a cigar!” I’ll say with a smile and a faux growl.
All of which is what makes the mostly peaceful, 75-minute, $275 run to the store we just made together an outright miracle. Neither of us threw food, had a fit or opened up a can. There was just a little friction. It was actually fun.
But then, we did go to her store.
I resisted the pig’s feet, so as to not give the checkout gal anything about which to share a knowing glance with my wife. But I did stock up on sardines and Viennas. And my vegetables.
She did not over-instruct me on the honors and benefits that come with regular shopping at her store as compared to shopping at mine.
She did indulge in one impulse buy. Ha!
Cat food. Sigh.
My lone impulse buy was a fresh, whole pineapple. I am such a sucker for them, whole coconuts and anything else that was so exotic when I was little. Like Jiffy Pop. Or Tang.
“I’ll be needin’ you to peel this thing,” I said.
Here we go. “I’ll be in the man room with a cigar ...”