At Least We Won't Starve
"What am I having for dinner?" Sam asked me at ten o'clock on Saturday night.
"Are you kidding me?" I asked. I was actually on my way to bed to allow the 27-Time World Champion to piss me off again. No Mariano all year and everyone but Jeter is swinging a wet noodle.
"I didn't eat anything at the party," Sam said. "I wasn't hungry then and there's nothing to eat in the house."
Which was an absolute exaggeration, of course. There was plenty of food. We were plum out of chicken fries though so hence the aggravation.
"I'm not cooking you dinner at 10 o'clock," I said.
Ten minutes later I was making a pizza.
So I rose early on Sunday and headed to the grocery store. I'd fix their asses.
It was at this point when I thought of my Mom and Dad spending every last dime they had feeding 6 (and I'm sorry here siblings) pigs that ate themselves to pain at every meal. 30 pork chops for dinner? 20 sandwiches for our lunches? $350 a week in groceries in the 1970's?
I walked the aisles putting anything that looked remotely appetizing into the cart. They want ice cream sandwiches? I got 'em and boxes of the slush freezies. Pop? I went easy but grabbed iced tea and Gatorade too. And chicken? I grabbed six different kinds.
Of course, there's an aside here to all my fellow shoppers.
1). Don't put your cart on one side of the aisle and then stand directly across from it on the other side. I can't get by and I'm liable to say something snappy like, "It's your aisle, huh, buddy?"
2). Don't ask me questions or chat with me. I could give two shits if you've tried the peppers I have in my cart. I tried, the other day to be nice and listen to a guy tell me about his grand-kids graduation party and then it morphed into the high prices, the nice weather, and his take on Obama.
"Gotta' go, dude," I said. "Have a good weekend."
3). Would I like plastic or paper? Surprise me. I really don't care. What I'd like is for you to scan the groceries without flirting with your bagger and asking me what I think about the Bills draft. And do I want my milk in a bag? Again, surprise me. The little bastards that eat this stuff are going to hide in their rooms until I have it all out of the car and put away anyway.
I remember a long ago shopping trip. My mother and father discussed the chore over dinner one Saturday night. I believe that they were both sort of tired of all of us by then. It came down to my Dad doing it, deciding that he'd take John with him to help out.
About an hour later we watched my father's car race up the hill with a police car close behind. Dad pulled straight into the garage, shut the door and ran into the house with John following. A moment later the doorbell rang. Of course we all hid in various rooms to hear the conversation.
Cop: Come on, John. You were speeding.
Dad: I never left the house.
Cop: John, why are you doing this?
Dad: Ask my wife. I've been here all night.
Cop: Lynda?
Mom: He never left the house.
A moment later Mom, Dad and the cop were all laughing. They were friends from town.
We all unpacked the bags and bags of groceries that night.
"I think I'll go next time," Mom said.
"Dad's nuts," John told me later that night.
"No shit," I might have said.
Cut back to today. I finished putting everything away. Over $300 and not a piece of beef.
"At least we won't starve," I could hear my Dad saying.
Moments later Sam was beside me. He surveyed the scene.
"You didn't get any cookies 'n cream ice cream," he said.
I chased him like that cop chased Dad.
"Are you kidding me?" I asked. I was actually on my way to bed to allow the 27-Time World Champion to piss me off again. No Mariano all year and everyone but Jeter is swinging a wet noodle.
"I didn't eat anything at the party," Sam said. "I wasn't hungry then and there's nothing to eat in the house."
Which was an absolute exaggeration, of course. There was plenty of food. We were plum out of chicken fries though so hence the aggravation.
"I'm not cooking you dinner at 10 o'clock," I said.
Ten minutes later I was making a pizza.
So I rose early on Sunday and headed to the grocery store. I'd fix their asses.
It was at this point when I thought of my Mom and Dad spending every last dime they had feeding 6 (and I'm sorry here siblings) pigs that ate themselves to pain at every meal. 30 pork chops for dinner? 20 sandwiches for our lunches? $350 a week in groceries in the 1970's?
I walked the aisles putting anything that looked remotely appetizing into the cart. They want ice cream sandwiches? I got 'em and boxes of the slush freezies. Pop? I went easy but grabbed iced tea and Gatorade too. And chicken? I grabbed six different kinds.
Of course, there's an aside here to all my fellow shoppers.
1). Don't put your cart on one side of the aisle and then stand directly across from it on the other side. I can't get by and I'm liable to say something snappy like, "It's your aisle, huh, buddy?"
2). Don't ask me questions or chat with me. I could give two shits if you've tried the peppers I have in my cart. I tried, the other day to be nice and listen to a guy tell me about his grand-kids graduation party and then it morphed into the high prices, the nice weather, and his take on Obama.
"Gotta' go, dude," I said. "Have a good weekend."
3). Would I like plastic or paper? Surprise me. I really don't care. What I'd like is for you to scan the groceries without flirting with your bagger and asking me what I think about the Bills draft. And do I want my milk in a bag? Again, surprise me. The little bastards that eat this stuff are going to hide in their rooms until I have it all out of the car and put away anyway.
I remember a long ago shopping trip. My mother and father discussed the chore over dinner one Saturday night. I believe that they were both sort of tired of all of us by then. It came down to my Dad doing it, deciding that he'd take John with him to help out.
About an hour later we watched my father's car race up the hill with a police car close behind. Dad pulled straight into the garage, shut the door and ran into the house with John following. A moment later the doorbell rang. Of course we all hid in various rooms to hear the conversation.
Cop: Come on, John. You were speeding.
Dad: I never left the house.
Cop: John, why are you doing this?
Dad: Ask my wife. I've been here all night.
Cop: Lynda?
Mom: He never left the house.
A moment later Mom, Dad and the cop were all laughing. They were friends from town.
We all unpacked the bags and bags of groceries that night.
"I think I'll go next time," Mom said.
"Dad's nuts," John told me later that night.
"No shit," I might have said.
Cut back to today. I finished putting everything away. Over $300 and not a piece of beef.
"At least we won't starve," I could hear my Dad saying.
Moments later Sam was beside me. He surveyed the scene.
"You didn't get any cookies 'n cream ice cream," he said.
I chased him like that cop chased Dad.
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