(Now this is before the pandemonium has broken out.) So this was about three weeks ago at ten o’clock in the evening, the favorite time that John and I like to go to the grocery store.
I have two speeds. I either like to meander around the store and look at every new item that is on display, or I like to split up and act like it is a formula one course. John is always the same. He is Eagle Scout boy, and he goes methodically down our same aisles.
Now, what do I mean by the same aisles? We buy the SAME DAMN THING. Every SAME DAMN TIME. There are bananas, cheese, bread, cran grape juice, apple juice, orange juice, oatmeal, grape nuts, cheerios, soy milk (yuck, I want dairy, but I’m allergic), almond milk, coffee, peanut butter (organic) and strawberry jam.
We usually have 3 other wild card items. Is this too much of a window on our household? Do you wonder where the vegetables come from? You saw the bananas and strawberry jam, right? Well we do make weekly trips to the Organic fruit/vegetable stand.
Okay, so one night was one of my meandering nights. John’s six foot five, I’m five foot five. I must have been distracted by the pretty color on a new package of oats, or maybe I was drooling over Froot Loops, who knows. But all of a sudden I hear John swearing. I turn around to find him.
I can’t find him. He was just there.
Our cart is still there.
“Caitlyn?” an irritated voice calls from below. I look down, John is squatting near the jam. I notice it’s on sale. It’s a really good price.
John looks like a pretzel.
“That’s a really good price,” I say.
“It’s going to fall.”
I look again. His hands and arms are full with jars of jam, and one knee is pushing in the jam so it doesn’t fall off the shelf. He’s in quite a pickle. I soak it in. This would make a good scene for a book.
“A little help?” he asks incredulously.
“Oh!” I say coming out of my stupor. I bend down and shove the jars back on the shelf.
He stands up and plops the jars in the cart. “Really? You were just going to leave me hanging?” John asks.
“I was considering the possibilities,” I explain lamely.
Now whenever I’m oblivious to John, he just says, “A little help.”