A cheeky short story about tripping out at the grocery store.
My wife is always buttering up my cheeky self. She calls me ‘You old softy’, and makes sure that I am. The other day we masked up, washed our hands of staying indoors and ventured forth with the domestic duty of a 6 A.M. trip during ‘senior hour’ to the grocery store.
I am in charge of juggling coupons and the shopping list. Diana is in charge of inspiration Aka, what we ‘really’ need for things of good taste. We enjoy bantering with each other while driving anywhere. It is a great way to stay connected, see where each other are coming from, and remind our ‘butter half’ why we love each other with affirming comments along the way.
Once we get to ‘The Store’, by long practice we separate, she in a well charged electric ‘rider trailing her oxygen hose (hopefully) off the floor. I venture forth with empty shopping cart well sanitized, to purloin that day’s specials on unreachable high topped shelves.
We are good at meeting in the middle, as is common for couples finding their relationship better than they ever expected it to be. For us each, this was our third try and totally unexpected that there really was a little patch of heaven on earth.
I heard her in the bread section talking about how much she liked my brand of buns she’d found. I stopped to listen to the lilt of her voice, waiting for the response of the woman she was chattering with.
She was listening in awe at my wife’s devotion to husbandry while making side comments about how men were such animals and how lucky Diana was to have trained me up right.
I knew when to shut up and let things ride, pushed my cart into view filled to the top with our shopping list and acted like the basket case I am. Shopping wears me out where for women it seems to be all a joy that can’t be taken unless minutes are stretched into hours.
While Diana wrapped up her conversation with this female stranger checking out my buns I placed along with my wife’s other sundries into the top of my basked, I felt a little more cheeky than usual. My wife’s eulogizing me was cracking me up.
I bowed, fluffed the hair on her head (it is a favorite softness in her I enjoy touching that tickles me to no end), and offered her the option to check out any isles she had missed while I waited up front.
It was well worth seeing the stranger’s jaw drop at my undivided attention and devotion. I willingly payed the price of adding Diana’s refilled rider basket to our total as we waved goodbye to that envious gal stranger now my wife’s instant new friend.
It took a load off my mind filling up the trunk and backseat with a month’s worth of groceries . . . you can never be too ‘car-full’, but I noticed as I wedged myself into my car seat that I had smashed my buns.
For the "Butter My Buns Contest" in July