My wife, loving life partner that she is, does 99.99% of our laundry.
As her self-sacrificing spouse, I shop for groceries. I am so thankful she handles the cold-water-only and take-it-to-the-dry-cleaner decisions. According to a reliable resource, she is equally grateful that I—influenced by primeval hunter-gatherer genes—wander the supermarket for our daily bread.
We each have our tasks.
The other day, my task meant that I spotted a kid, hunkered like a stowaway in a shopping cart with the milk and lettuce, wheeling toward the checkout as his Mom steered the cart. The kid’s orange-stained hand dug inside an open bag of Pepperidge Farm goldfish crackers.
And yes, a fish story.
At most four years old, he was seriously fishing. His Mom was grinning. The clerk was making small talk as he scanned items. Like a plane waiting to land, I stood next in line. I understood what was happening. There have been times, say with a cold drink on a hot day, when I handed a grocery clerk an empty bottle. Yep, scan it, let me pay for it, and then, please, recycle the container immediately. Gulping it down was a higher priority than any supermarket etiquette. Continue reading →