Monday, November 27, 2006

I'll Bag the Groceries, Dear...

Look, if your other 'alf is anything like mine, well she likes things done a certain way and grocery packing is no exception. Don't try to get it right my fellow men. And, oh do not fall for the set-up where she stands waiting for the total from the cashier while you stand there with nothing to do, nothing to do except make yourself useful, right? This is where you are falling into the trap. For now you start piling the groceries into the paper bag, and in no particular order, maybe weight is determining factor but that is about it. All the while you are looking around and admiring the scenery or possibly pondering whether the cashier at register two actually does have a ring on or whether the old lady to your right, who you see through your peripheral vision, will finally conquer that shake that is driving you nuts. "Hm, just imagine her working with crystal ware", you ponder.

Fortunately for me today I was at our Coop where there is always a Coop member bagging. So after positioning myself in the only space down by the bags, I waited and received my official release. God, I love those words, "would you like me to bag those for you?"

I am sure some of you out there, unlike the rest of us men, take great pride in bagging and wouldn't dream of letting someone else bag for you. God forbid. You, like my wife, understand that there is an order and place for each grocery item. And how could anybody other than you get it right? Even a tenured bagger at the Coop could not possibly remember the criteria.

The question remains that though you have avoided a duty sure to end in a domestic dispute, as in "who packed my celery like this next to the warm roast chicken?" Notice when she utters this the cadence in her voice. The notes rise at then end and you immediately feel the accusatory tone. Naturally, you usually witness this in the kitchen where there is just you and the dog. Usually it is right when you about to exit the kitchen, snack in hand and plonk yourself on the couch. So there is nobody else to fob it off on. You are trapped. She's got you. Only getting caught red handed at the wrong internet site could be worse, perhaps.

Well, I managed to avoid this by yielding to the bagger today. Though I was right proud of myself too, the problem is it never ends with the groceries, does it. Nope, you are a man, after all, attempting to cohabitate with a being who operates so counter intuitively to you that you have to resign yourself to this: you can dodge one domestic landmine but that is why they call it a mine field. Dodge one only to get blown to bits by another.

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