grocery shopping

There is rarely any food in my flat. Usually I would overcome this matter by eating out or at least buying takeaway, but it being the end of the month, I was pretty skint.

so he suggested that he could cook for us instead. But cooking requires groceries, and at the suggestion of grocery shopping together, his eyes turned... frantic.

You don't want me to go with you...

What?!.. No...

grocery shopping together...its too...domestic?

He laughed, attempting to deny it. I was unconvinced.

And when.. when you first encounter someone, when you find yourself attracted to them, you will imagine that first kiss. Then you may envision the embrace, the discarding of clothes. You may think of mornings after, that are cozy rather than awkward. Or maybe you think of being out with them, seeing them across the room, animated, talking to friends, thinking, I can't wait until we get back into bed...

But you do not, you do not fantasise about.... grocery shopping together.

Well, what if you go instead?

I'd go but I'm not cooking. I wouldn't know what to get.

A lull follows.

He pulls on his coat, plays with his hair, adjusts his glasses,

I guess.. it's just... It's been a long time since I've been grocery shopping with someone.

And I think about another person.. How he always needed to go to Tescos, just as I'd arrived in London. And how, any sense of joy in seeing him,was soon after obstructed by the frustration struggling to follow, laden down with my luggage. When he would always ask

Do you want anything?

As I'd mumble

not really

As it became clear to him, that the only thing I really wanted, was for him to make his way to the check out, so I could make my way with my heavy suitcase, out the door.

And then I think of how for my mother, going to the supermarket, was some kind of social event. How she knew every single sales assistant by name, and how they knew hers as well. How she loved it if I went with her, because then she could introduce me to all of them, until i wanted to crawl under her shopping cart, begging to wait outside for her on the pavement.

My father never did the grocery shopping then. But now mum has no interest in driving, so every week he gamely he makes it down the aisles, squinting at my mother's list, often failing to find some of its contents. When I go with him, he is always impressed that I understand, what to him is a mysterious logic. How is it that I know what and where all of it is? He considers me clever, treating me like a supermarket shopping genius.

But back to how my story began...

In the end, I do go with him. And when we walk in, I get distracted by red wines on offer, and he goes off to buy vegetables or spatzle or something, And actually, the whole expedition is over fairly quickly. Its all really quite painless. We remark on this on the way back to my place, amused at making it through this new threshhold of our relationship, as we once again, return through my front door.