by Patti
One night earlier this week, after peering for the 10th time into the refrigerator and exclaiming dramatically that there was nothing to eat, M suddenly decided that right then, that very second, at 8 p.m. on a weeknight, it was time to do the groceries. M is a pretty domestic guy. He irons his own pants, and even knows how to make those fancy creases; he does laundry; he gets the kid ready for school; he cooks a mean breakfast and simmers a fantastic stew. This is why it irritates me endlessly when he looks into the refrigerator, is able to summarize there is "nothing to eat", takes the actual initiative to go to the grocery store - but asks me to "write the list". For all his domesticity, he suffers the mysterious ailment known as "refrigerator blindness". Yes, he can SEE we have no food, but he can't seem to SEE just what might be missing. Odd.
So I, relieved to be relieved of having to schlep to the store, began to write things on a scrap of paper: apples, bananas, grapes, tomatoes, carrots, potatoes, eggs, milk, english muffins, granola bars. I then got bored of writing down the OBVIOUS and told him to please just figure out the rest. So, with my half-finished list in hand, out the door he went.
When he returned, laden with those annoyingly tiny plastic bags, I began to unpack the groceries. There were the apples, a measly three. Oh, look! Some carrots. A nice bag of plump grapes. Ah, lovely tomatoes. Bananas? No. But, here was some carrot cake. And rice pudding. And flan. And a tube of frozen sugar cookie dough. And a package of pre-cut chocolate chip cookie dough. And an industrial sized jug of hazelnut coffee creamer. And a giant box of chocolates that may have been Russian. Or Greek. Or Polish? And a can of "real" whipped cream. And a bag of gooey apple-cinnamon bread.
"What IS this?" I asked M.
"I don't know, but doesn't it look good?"
Apparently, M's grocery list is "sugar and stuff with cool pictures on it".
At least the picture had broccoli in it?
As I unpacked the "groceries", half laughing, half cursing, S jumped around me in glee, shouting out that her papi should always do the groceries. Then, apparently intoxicated by the sugar dust that now filled the air, she promptly made herself a bedtime snack: a waffle sandwich stuffed with Nutella, sprinkled with 1/2 cup of Ovaltine chocolate powder, and then topped off with the last banana left in our house.
And then, as my sugar beast daughter put her head together with her sugar beast papi to figure out how to bring the picture on the box to life, I put away the rest of the groceries, stuffing sugary treats into every crevice of the refrigerator, vowing to buy some celery.
