Hubby is headed out the door for the grocery store, and I am arranging a withdrawal from savings. I should be grateful that he is willing to battle the inevitable crowds at the local grocery store; however, even armed with a list, including detailed instructions where things may be located, he will forget two items, buy two items that are wrong, and come home with three items that do not resemble anything I have written on his list.
This is a common husband malady, perhaps an epidemic. I spoke with a friend recently who sent her husband on a mission to Wal-Mart. He also had a list. Unfortunately, he took a child along. We mothers know how to turn a deaf ear to the pleadings and promises of our young; however, fathers are pushovers when it comes to shopping, and every child knows this. My friend’s brood got together and decided on items they wanted, then sent the most finagling and charming child with Dad to accomplish the “mission.” Sure enough, as she and I spoke on the phone, her husband arrived back from “shopping” with little to nothing being bought from her list, but her children having scored a grand slam. I think the other four were hefting the triumphant spoiler on their shoulders as we hung up the phone.
I have spoken with other friends and coworkers about how often they send their husbands on shopping missions and receive the same groans, snickers, and eye-rolling every time. We all agreed that we would never send our husbands to pick out meat or vegetables. I wonder if men are genetically coded to have no ability in choosing a lean cut of meat or a ripe tomato. I remember vividly when I asked my husband to go to the store and buy three boneless, skinless chicken breasts. He arrived home with three family packs of boneless, skinless chicken breasts, which totaled seventeen whole breasts, and I fried chicken that night for almost two and a half hours. (Hmm, that is his favorite meal. Perhaps I’m underestimating him.) We ate chicken for five days.
