If all men had the aversion to grocery shopping that my husband does, my own shopping experience would take much less time, as there would be fewer carts stopped in the middle of the aisle.
Maybe not. Perhaps I have too much faith in my own kind.
The thing about Dearly Beloved is that he thinks that because I don’t leave the house kicking and screaming I must ENJOY grocery shopping. Hardly. During our discussions about this subject (yes, we’ve had some) he says, “You don’t hate it as much as I do.”
When I shop for groceries, I buy multiples of items we use often– diced tomatoes, beans, etc.–when they’re on sale. Plus, I buy items that I know that are about to need restocking–milk, bagels, and such. Both of these ideas are completely foreign to him. It rarely occurs to him that we need more coffee until he shakes the last few beans out of the bag. As long as there are heels in the bread bag, “we’re good on bread.”
My point here is not to criticize my Dearly Beloved’s shopping aversion–he has too many good traits to nitpick about that– but to explain why, when I needed a few grocery items after we’d been to a movie matinée recently, he drove to the strip shopping mall and parked in front of the supermarket, then said, “I’m not going in.”
Who am I to question his preference to sit in the car on a 90-degree day? I was fine with that.
What did surprise me was when he said, “You keep the keys. I’m going to run down to the music store while you’re shopping. I’ll just wait by the car if I get back first.”
After making my purchase, I returned to the car and stashed my grocery sacks on the back seat. I switched on the ignition for air conditioning and began reading the book I had picked up at the library. I became quickly engrossed, but by the time I started Chapter 3, it occurred to me that my Talenti Sea Salt Caramel Gelato (a major score: half-price!) was probably melting, even with air conditioning.
I was just about to dash back and buy a box of plastic spoons to put it to waist instead of waste when DB opened the car door. He was grinning proudly and holding a very large black bag… containing a very large guitar.
As he said when he laid it across the back seat, “This will last me the rest of my life.” I should hope so.
He plans to learn to play it while he’s learning to play the banjo he bought two months ago.
Hey, I’m not complaining. The man enjoys it and it’s cheaper than a red sports car. I think it’s great to take up something completely new after retirement.
He practices in what was formerly a guest bedroom, now referred to as “Scout’s room” because that is where we set up her kennel when we brought her home. I can’t even hear his practice in the den or sunroom… and I’m not complaining about that, either.
Scout recognizes the banjo by sight or sound and she doesn’t like either. A plunk or two and she’s out of there. She leaves the room whenever DB even reaches for it, but if he selects the guitar, she’ll lie at his feet while he practices. She seems quite pleased with the new purchase.
DB laments that he has not progressed as rapidly as he’d hoped, but his enthusiasm has not waned. He has decided that he must actually learn notes, something he had not anticipated. Although he has not admitted it, I think he believed that his notable shag dancing abilities would translate to his fingertips. That has not been the case.
Where does one store a guitar and a banjo? Our house was built before the walk-in closet era. So far, he hasn’t found a good spot. He puts one atop the dresser and the other on the chest-of-drawers. That makes dusting a pain, so I prefer this arrangement:
The little scenario gives me the giggles (except for the poorly made bed.) I wouldn’t be surprised to look in one day and find a baby ukulele lying nearby.
- “Nothing says ‘dropping out of society’ like learning the banjo.” – Daniel Roth
- “Will play Banjo for food, will stop playing banjo for money.” – Unknown
- “A gentleman is a man who can play the banjo, but doesn’t.” – Mark Twain
- “I pick, therefore I grin.” – Unknown
- “You can pick your banjo and you can pick your nose but you can’t wipe your banjo on your pants.” – Unknown
- “I hear banjos. Paddle faster.” – Anonymous