Shopping with the Wife

“Joe, we need to do the food shopping.”
“Okay, I’m off Tuesday, I’ll do it then.”
“We should do it today. We’re out of a lot of stuff and the kids are coming for dinner tomorrow.”
“All right, all right! I’ll do it then! I’ll get ready and go.”
“Joseph Anthony! Don’t get snippy with me!”
“Mom??? Mom??? Is that you??? Is my mom here???”
“Look, Joe. I’m going to the supermarket. I didn’t say for you to go. I can do it myself.”
“Fine! I’ll come with you. Let’s just not take all friggin’ day.”
Uhm … What just happened? Well, I’ll tell you.
I pull my hair out hate get frustrated shopping with my wife. She drives me insane. She also, sometimes, drives other shoppers insane. Apparently.
I try my best to plan a time to shop when I’m off and she’s working.
I’m a good food shopper. Market Basket is one of my favorite places to visit. I go in. I get what we need. I go home. And I have lots of fun while I’m there.
I get to people watch.
“Excuse me Miss Oblivious mamm, I think one of your little ones is whip creaming aisle seven.”
I have fun placing odd items in other people’s carts when they’re not looking.
Big Burly Muscular Guy: “Hey, what the hell are these panty liners doing in my cart!”
Me: “Tee-hee” (As I deviously blend into the background helping the woman, who I think lives in the shoe, pull down one of her caboodle of monsters kids who was hanging from the third shelf in the same aisle.)
I like taking a dozen consecutive numbers at the deli counter and watch everyone look at each other as each number is called.
Anyway, I have fun when I go to the supermarket alone.
Over the years, my wife has witnessed my shenanigans and has become, let’s say, no longer amused.
It used to be fun with her along.
Like when I purposely grabbed someone else’s half-full shopping cart and nonchalantly stopped next to her, stepped away and then watched her push it along down two or three aisles placing new items into it.
“Joe, very funny! Now where’s our cart?”
Then there was the time I played cat and mouse with her for about ten minutes, laughing so hard my side hurt, as I kept guiding her to find me over our cell phones. “Joe, Are you freakin’ kidding me!! Where the hell are you?” Too funny!
So why don’t I like to shop with the woman I love?
We get out of the car … she has to always grab the first cart she sees in the parking lot.
“Uhm, honey ... there’s a thousand more inside.”
She picks up ten of everything before she puts one in the cart.
“Oh, good sweetie ... you found one you like.”
She reads labels.
“Hon! There’s the Healthy-Heart logo … what else do you need to know?”
She checks dates.
“Uhm, Domenica … stop moving around all the sushi containers. You’ve already reached the bottom of the pile and the Japanese guy is staring at you … and he’s not smiling.”
She never picks an item sitting on the front of a shelf.
“Geez sweetheart ... be careful, there may be spiders back there!”
And then there’s this …
Remember I said she drives other shoppers crazy too?
Well, she recently told us (our daughters and I) a story about some “crazy” woman at the supermarket. She was shopping alone for a few items, one of which was a loaf of Italian bread.
She explains how this “mad-crazy” woman came over to her as she was choosing the right loaf to take home.
Crazy woman: “What are you doing?”
My wife: (innocently) “I’m picking a loaf of bread.”
Crazy woman: “Oh, I can help you with that.”
My wife: (cautiously) “No thanks, I can do it myself.”
Crazy woman: (now right in my wife's face) “No, I insist! I’ll find you a good one!” The woman begins to pick up every loaf of bread, gingerly squeezing each one a few times repeating over and over again … “Is this a good one? … Is this a good one? … Is this a good one?”
My wife: (confused) “Look, lady! Thanks, but I don’t need your help. I’m taking this one.”
So she tells us this story, amazed at the audacity some people exhibit to total strangers. She was convinced the woman belonged in the funny-farm.
I’m thinking … the poor lady. She was “mad” all right. She was most likely watching my wife for ten minutes picking up every loaf trying to select the one she wanted, while she (the poor woman) was waiting her turn hoping my wife would leave at least one loaf untouched.
After discussing the story we were all convinced my wife drove the “crazy” woman over the edge.
All these things add up to this … she adds an extra hour to every shopping trip and aggravates me (and others) … and when I go food shopping with her I can’t wait to get to the check-out line.
Beatrice: “Sir, would you like paper or plastic?”
Me: “Oh Beatrice, would you let your manager know I looked up and down the stationary goods aisle and couldn’t find any invisible ink?”
My wife: “Joe, go stand over by the door!”
“Yes, dear.” … See … no fun.