Groceries

Not long ago, while scrubbing post-party burnt chili scum from a pot, I was reminded of how handy it would have been to have a man around to help clean up (and give me a kiss after).

I had that moment tonight at Shaw's Market, looping those 7 plastic bag handles onto my wrists to walk to the bus: After 15 years, I'm tired of carrying the groceries. Where is my knight with shopping cart? The co-decider on produce quality? The co-spender to keep me on budget?

Funny, this feeling recalls an incident from my brief tenure with Another Man. Hanging out at my place one winter afternoon, we decided to pick up fixings at the grocery store, rather than go out to a bar for supper.

My first time shopping with a date! And it was weird. We hadn't been going out for very long and, while we had decent rapport, exact dynamics weren't solid. It didn't help that I was exceedingly self-conscious: should I push the cart or wait and see if he took the lead? Since the groceries were for my house, should I be the executive decision-maker or ask his opinion on what should go into the stir fry? Should I pay or see if he offered?

I pushed the cart. Mostly, I remember, he just kind of trailed me through the produce aisle as I gathered mushrooms, peppers and onion. Then we had an awkward moment while stopped to peruse chicken breasts. Whatever we had been talking about, it seemed the perfect moment for me to exclaim:

"You know, I'm just so not used to grocery shopping with someone else! It's so weird!"

I looked over at him, chuckled a bit.

He didn't say anything back. Grinned--or grimaced, really--then started strolling away.

Oh. Instant lameness. I knew. I did not need to tell my date that I had never dated anyone else for long enough to go grocery shopping with him.

We went back to my place; I cooked, he did the dishes. We went on with the evening. Yet there's a part of me that still believes the chicken breast revelation dug the foundation for that relationship's demise....as in, someone was way too excited to have company at the store and it showed. That's a lot of pressure, being the first man to carry a girl's grocery bags.

(Which, by the way, he did.)

Bleh.

In any case, there's hope: the first time is out of the way! As in just about everything, the second time could only be better. Onward!