In the dark recesses of our past lies a time of deprivation, confusion, and fear. A time when days and weeks of indecision led to despicable acts the like of which no one should have to witness. These horrors we have known were born from a single fact:
We were grocery-store poor.
Pretty soon after moving into our third-story condo we realized that parking near our new home was nearly impossible. It involved circling for ages before settling on a spot a half-mile from home. Rather than carry our bags back and forth that far, we tried idling in the alley and carrying the groceries up the back stairs.
In the process, we blocked a parking space for our building. Of course, the neighbor who needed the space came home while we were unloading our groceries. Rather than ask us to move so she could get in, she called the police and reported us. For the only time in known history, the police responded right away and issued a ticket.
The ordeal of unloading groceries under the watchful eyes of our neighbors kept us from the store. Weeks would pass by without nary a mention of the grocery store. The time in between trips stretched out like a food dessert. Toward the end of our sentence, food became scarce; take-out became the norm.
Until a thought dawned upon us. What if we made our grocery shopping night a weekly affair? We’d buy less food, increasing our likelihood of carrying it home in one trip. We’d spend less time there, decreasing our crankiness. The trip to the grocery store wouldn’t take up the entire night. And I’d always have a supply of fresh produce!
The first week of shopping this way was so blessed, it was as if our entrance in the store was heralded by angel song. We haven’t looked back since. Now, barring death, sickness, or out-of-townedness, every week has a grocery night—a night to start fresh, to wander the aisles and dream of meals to come. We travel the aisles together, free from the pressure of once-monthly shopping.
As old and married as it sounds, we look forward to grocery night. It’s an activity we do together; it builds camaraderie. He’s there for me when the Jewel is, once again, out of baby portabellas. I commiserate with him over the long line at the deli. Even though we are hunting and gathering different foods, we are a team.
