I don’t want to indulge in husband bashing because that’s just not nice. However…
We have two problems here. One is, right up front I’ll admit it, I’m shopping challenged. I just don’t like to shop. I’ve furnished a whole house on eBay just because I didn’t want to go to the store. It’s this one- our Florida Bungalow- and it’s quite tasteful if I do say so myself. Nice touches that go with the age of the house. However, in general, you can’t buy groceries- or you shouldn’t anyway- on eBay. Most of it would spoil en route and you would end up with enough Styrofoam peanuts to fill the Mariana Trench. Scary thought.
If I get in the grocery store I’m sort of like that Adrian Monk obsessive-compulsive character. Other than Whole Paycheck, I’m convinced they are just giant petri dishes of germs. We had a house down here for 4 months before I realized it was Publix, not Pubix.
As a favor to me my husband will often go to the grocery store, which means I shouldn’t complain. Ah well. I have previously posted on his penchant for bad soap. He’s been known to go to Sam’s Club and come home with 24 bars of Irish Spring, one eighteen ft. diameter trampoline, one Foosball table and a 15# bag of peanuts in the shell. He actually did that. And that’s just not right. So I told the people at Sam’s Club that he kites checks.
Here in Florida we have to shop for 10 day stretches and then leave the place essentially empty. The Snarl happily carts home unused milk and eggs to her little apartment but shopping in moderation and with forethought is smart.
Yesterday’s trip resulted in these items. They were all presents for me. I may be a lot of things but I am not a vibrant blond and I would have hoped he would have noticed my hair color by now. And yet. As Mz. Mary notes, it’s wonderful to have the very best husband.
It’s Friday and that means it’s time to hop on board Friday’s Ark. By request, for Rhett, a picture of Sophie. She is back home and probably has her nose seriously out of joint by now. And then there’s this bit that never made it to the Ark at all. The leftovers from Hannibal’s lunch.