[dropcap]B[/dropcap]eing a husband, there’s nothing that tests my marital skills like grocery store lists. It’s true. In thirteen years, I’ve yet to make a successful trip. I forget things, or worse, buy the wrong brand of toilet paper.
Still, I don’t mind zipping off to the store. I find the aisles of the supermarket to be tranquilizing. Especially the Campbell’s soup aisle. The only request I make before going is that I be provided with an accurate list. One with details. Otherwise, I’m liable to return home with a puppy and a bag of Fritos.
Here’s an example: Jamie wrote me out a list yesterday. The list read, “pepper, fish, tampons.” That was all. She might as well have given me a copy of the Wall Street Journal and a can of Bud Light.
I needed specifics.
What did she mean by pepper? Did she want a red bell pepper, or a can of black pepper? What about the fish? Did she want frozen cod, imported snapper, or a can of sardines?
And that brings us to tampons.
There must be sixty-seven different kinds of tampons. They come in varieties like: light, sport, regular, pearl, super, super-super, super-duper, and straight-jacket.
The cashier gave me a little grin when I checked out.
“You’re a good man for buying these,” she said. “But can I give you a little friendly advice?”
“We have a special on chocolate bars, aisle six.” She winked.
“Thanks, but no thanks,” I said. “Chocolate wouldn’t go well with the sardines she put on my list.”