| Much relaxing over
the weekend. The single productive thing we did this time? Groceries. I was
getting pretty desparate for real food after missing two grocery days last
month. I mean, really bizarre, non-varied eating. How's that going to look when
I see Karen (dietitian) on Tuesday? "Sorry, Karen. Nope, no excuses. I
just flat out didn't work at eating very well because I was too busy fooling
around with my husband and that was far more entertaining than keeping a food
log for you this time around."
Paul hasn't kept up with his
either -- we both need to get a grip.
Having actual food helps. Not that
grocery shopping put an end to the fooling around. He still fooled around in
the grocery store -- running down the aisles playing hide-and-go-seek and other
idiotic things.
The ritual began the way it always
does.
"Basket or buggy?" he
asks.
"Buggy."
"I drive!" and he veers
off to the right running down the milk aisle. I collected juice and figured I'd
find him sooner or later.
He was lingering by the brownies
and cake mixes so I asked him, "Did you want me to bake you something?
This peanut butter thing? How about pudding?"
"No. Can I have funnel
cake?"
"Yes, if you make
it."
"Look!" He waves
birthday candles at me.
"Huh?"
"It says 'Dec-A-Cake.' Now if
you say that really fast, doesn't it sound like 'defecate?'"
"Ugggggh....Paaaauuuul!"
"Don't hit me with food!
People will stare! Help! Help! Spouse abuse!" he sprinted gleefully down
the aisle with the cart.
Then in the produce...
"Get me some zucchini while I
deal with these bananas," I ordered.
He brought them back and gave me
an an extra plastic bag for the onions.
"Is this not the most phallic
zucchini you ever saw?" he announces waving an obscene specimen before my
eyes.
"I am sure you selected the
most penile summer squashes you could find just to bug me."
He giggled and stared at the
produce scale and then leered at me.
"A pound each, huh? C'mon,
just dump them on there and let's weigh 'em!"
An not-subtle reference to a
factoid he found in the child development book about breasts gaining about a
pound each in pregnancy from milk production et al.
"I'm going to leave you here
at the store if you don't stop misbehaving," I threatened with a bag of
carrots.
"Can I have
apples?"
"I already put in apples. Did
you want any other fruit?"
"No, just apples. Wait! I
know what I want!" and he ran away with the cart leaving me holding a
tomato. While making his escape he promptly bopped into a snack display case,
threw the fallen snacks back onto the stand then careened away while I covered
my eyes.
When I found him in the aisle with
the toothbrushes I told him he had cart driving issues and to slow down. He was
poking and prodding about a million of toothbrushes before he settled on a
green one from Oral-B.
At the cashier line he got into
this long debate with the cashier lady who was goggling at the extremes of our
shopping cart.
"Are you the tofu eater?
What's that like?" she mused.
"Not me! SHE eats it
(pointing at me) but I'll only eat it if it's disguised."
The cashier lady laughed at the
funnel cake and the iced animal crackers coming down the moving belt. "I
can guess who eats THOSE then."
Veggie sausage for me, meat
sausage for him. Boca Burgers for me, cow burgers for him. It's not obvious
that we diverge in our food tastes is it?
One stuffed grocery cart became
two grocery carts once they were bagged, so we took one each and as soon as we
hit the parking lot he was off and running, then jumping onto the cart and
steering wackily down the parking lot aisle by swinging his butt from side to
side.
I was worn out just watching him.
I'm glad barring fresh produce, it will be at least another 3 weeks before I
have to go through that whole rigmarole again with him. I think he does it just
so I don't aks him to come along that often.
~Astrophe
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