let’s go shopping, futurewife!
There are a number of things I’m good at:
1) Getting rid of spiders.
2) Reaching things on high shelves.
3) Finding you music before it hits stores. (Don’t ask me about my business.)
But there are a few things you won’t want me around for:
1) Grocery shopping.
There may be others, but we’re going to focus on that one.
Now I’m not going to complain if you make me go grocery shopping. But I may act up in other ways. A little. For example…
I’ll try to convince you to let me push you around in the cart.
“Let’s just get what we need and get out of here.”
“You present a compelling argument, but no. Baaaabe, I want to go home and watch Glee.”
“Give me a hug and I’ll hurry up with the shopping.”
You relent and give me a hug.
I hug back.
I squeeze your bum.
“Are you squeezing my bum in the frozen food section?”
“It looked cold!”
An old lady will walk by and give us an odd look.
“She’s showing me what a ripe tangerine should feel like. Keep moving, Estelle Getty.”
I’ll push the cart around. I’ll dutifully run back down the aisle to pick up something you forgot.
(And by “run” I mean kind of a strut/stroll combo.)
I’ll be very helpful.
All the other women, with husbands who refuse to go shopping with them, will stare at me in admiration.
I’ll give them all smug up-nods and say, “You’re impressed. And you should see the ruckus I bring in the bedroom. Really. There are videos!”
Well I’ll say it, but only loud enough for you to hear.
And you’ll shake your head. Something I’ll cause you to do so often that you’ll frequently have a sore neck.
But I’ll give you a neck massage while we watch Glee, so you’ll forgive.
I’ll also try to sneak things into the cart when you’re not looking.
I started doing that when I was a kid. My mom would force me to go grocery shopping, so I would toss random things in the cart.
Control top pantyhose.
Giant sack of Hershey’s Hugs.
80s era ghetto blaster.
A toboggan. (Yes, it happened.)
Finally we’ll get to the cash. You’ll be craving wine like never before in your life.
The cashier will run items through the… dealie that… scans! That’s it! And when prices pop up on the screen, I’ll say things like, “$1.75 for that? Out. Rageous. What kind of place are you running here?”
The manager will walk by and I’ll get his attention, point to you, and mouth “Shop… lifter…”
I’ll pick up a magazine. A close-up of Kanye on the cover. I say, “No one man should wear all that pooooowwwder.”
You’ll blink twice and ask me if that is the right toothpaste.
And it is. Because you’re awesome.
I’ll push the cart out to the car. You’ll get in and rest your tired noggin on the dash.
I’ll load everything.
I’ll tell you I forgot something and I have to go back in.
Without looking, you’ll give me a meek thumb-up.
I’ll run back in and return in a second. (Time enough for you to check the fuel situation and consider a run for the border.)
You’ll give me a confused look.
I’ll say, “Male grooming stuff. You do NOT want to know.”
You’ll crinkle your nose.
We’ll get home. We’ll put the groceries away together.
We’ll sit on the couch.
I’ll massage your neck.
We’ll agree it’s a crappy episode of Glee. You’ll like the guy with the girly lips. He’ll take his shirt off for reasons that don’t seem to fit with the plot.
You’ll shush me when I point that out.
You’ll say, “I’m huuuuungry. But I don’t want to get up.”
I’ll reach down beside the couch and grab the grocery bag I went back for.
I’ll pull out your favourite snack food and drink and pass them to you.
“Yes… I remember now,” you’ll say with a smile.
I’ll kiss you on top of the head.