An Orderly Life

We go shopping every day, my husband and I and because of this, the fridge in our kitchen contains very little. My husband likes to do all of the cooking and most of the shopping. I hate shopping. He only wants to buy fresh food, bought daily and I never tell him what to get for dinner. That would be looking a gift horse in the mouth. I can cook, and reasonably well, but it’s a chore and I have other things I like to find time to do, whereas he loves cooking, does it extremely well, and he enjoys it.

So, when we go to the supermarket, I leave the food shopping to him, whilst I am, it seems, qualified to buy ordinary household items. As we stride briskly around; this is something else we have in common, we do not wander in a daze, waiting for items to find us, there is a list and purpose to our shopping. We do glance into other peoples baskets and feel a little smug when we see people with a trolley containing alcohol, canned or frozen food and little else.

The last item on my list, is my daily fruit requirement.

On weekdays, we do not take breakfast of any kind and only eat fruit during the day.

My man, is not trusted to choose my fruit for me, so that makes us somewhere near quits. 

The other day when I approached the salad and prepared fruit stand, there was a tall stocky man standing exactly where I wanted to go to select my fruit snack. He was looking at the selection as if he had just arrived from Mars and never seen anything like it. I had to break his reverie with a polite ‘Excuse me please’.

 

He stepped slightly back and to the side, moving his basket to the other arm, a charming smile was spreading across his face. I started to sort through the fruit selections, checking first for the ones with the longest sell by date, then ones that looked most fresh. In both hands, I held a clear plastic pot that the label claimed to be- ‘Luscious, sweet and juicy berry medley’ in the 'Love Life' range, One of your five a day it pressed.

“They look nice” the tall man said, stepping a little closer, “Fruit’s supposed to be good for you isn’t it?” Blue eyes twinkling now.

“It’s not, ‘Supposed to be’ ”, I said, “It is”. I’m thinking to myself; do I remind him of his mother or is he actually flirting with a seventy six year old lady.  He continues chattering and I cut him off as I turn away to go, and offer, over my shoulder, “Look, if you’re looking for advice” I say pointing to his basket, “Put those doughnuts back”. 

I met Steve at the checkout and he checked the date on my berries. Marked 29th February when it was only the 26th then. There is surely no way the Blackberries and Strawberries would last four days without going soft. That was just daftand anyway I would eat then all during the course of that one day, Blackberries first, there are always four or five, then later on, the Blueberries, a lot more of those, later I will go back for the few Strawberries and lastly pick at the grapes later in the afternoon. All very orderly. No wonder people think I'm nuts!