On Saturday afternoon a mundane task turned into an event. My wife handed me a four-item shopping list.
“ Darlin, can you go to the store for me? I need a few items for the recipe.” My wife smiled. “I don’t have the time.”
“Well, Of course, Sugar. Can’t resist that beautiful smile.”
She handed me the list then said, "Don't buy any more beer or wine. We have more than enough." That’s what she always told me, but I never listened. “And don’t dally, we have a lot to do before our guests arrive.”
"Yes Hun," I responded, knowing full well I would be returning with a new craft brew or Napa Cab. She knew this too. It was a game we played, but we each had our own set of rules.
I knew there were always bargains to be found in the liquor department. My wife was unaware of this fact. Discovering an obscure craft beer or reserve vintage wine made the trip worth my time.
I drove to the Piggly Wiggly about three miles from our house. If you told someone from a northern state, you shopped for groceries at Piggly Wiggly, they would consider you unsophisticated. It’s true. The store’s name seems childish, like a three-year-old named it, but I'm from the South, so I didn’t matter.
The parking lot was full, which didn’t bother me. I had a habit of parking a fair distance away from the entrance. It was important to me to avoid dents and dings from free-roaming shopping carts and the random door swings of adjacent cars.
A little voice in the back of my mind kept saying, Don’t dally. I started to argue with that thought. I was being conscientious not dallying, but it didn’t seem worth the effort to argue or explain my position to a random thought.
I quick-stepped walked to the store entrance. Patiently slowing or stopping for drivers pulling in and out of the spaces. My main job now was to reach the store entrance unscathed. Sounds easier than it is. Screaming kids, cell phones and pressing issues on their minds are all distractions to drivers.
This is the South and we have a lot of thoughts occupying our brains. We love fried chicken, grits, outdoor grilling, grits, sweet tea, Christmas tamales, grits, buttermilk biscuits with gravy, breakfast tacos, grits, pecan pie, cowboy boots and line dancing just to name a few things. You may have noticed almost everything on the list is food. Did I mention grits? We have traditions that have been around for decades and we have no inclination to explain.
When I entered the store, I headed straight for the liquor aisle to check out any deals. I was browsing at the high-dollar wines, something I always do. I hoped the clerk had marked a ninety-dollar Cabernet down to nine dollars, but that was never the case.
Someday I’ll find one that’s mismarked, but it wouldn’t be today. I picked up two bottles of another Cab more reasonably priced. The second Cab was a backup bottle. You always need a backup. Then, the little voice returned with a warning, Don't buy any more beer or wine, but I still grabbed two six-packs of Turkey Trot Mississippi brown craft beer. I placed them in my basket and took my shopping list out.
James tapped me on the shoulder. "Y’all want me to bring some homebrew over tonight?"
“Is that the disgusting tar-based swill you gave me a few weeks ago?”
“The very same.” James laughed.
“Well, of course. That was . . . tasty.” I noticed James with a bottle of whiskey in his basket. “Store bought?”
“Yes, Southern Comfort. Sometimes I splurge.”
“Janis Joplin’s favorite. Well . . . her and Bobby McGee.”
James smiled. “She did know her whiskey.”
“Bring that by tonight. I’ll help you with it.”
“Not on your life.” James shook his head. ”You makin’ those rock-hard, dog ass biscuits for the chili?”
“Absolutely, they also go well with that crappy, tar beer you’re bringing.”
“All right, see you tonight.” James turned to walk away. “Hey, they got some good looking corn over in the produce section, since you’re shopping.”
“On the cob. Right? Not that packaged stuff.”
“Hell, yeah. Is there any other kind? It’s that fresh, sweet, white corn, two ears for a dollar.”
“Thanks, I’m not supposed to dilly dally,” I pushed my buggy down the aisle, then turned my head and yelled to James, “ but I’m not really shopping, just picking up a few items for the party.”
I wandered over to the spice aisle and picked up what I read on the list. No matter what I bought, there were always a few items that ended up being the wrong brand, size or color. I was destined to fail whenever I attempted to fulfill my wife's shopping list. I penciled in wine and beer on the list just to make my first purchase legit.
On the way to pick up fresh vegetables, I passed by the seafood section. Well! I didn’t actually pass, it was more like I lingered, which not at all like dallying. They had a new batch of prawns or shrimp to some. There's a difference. Prawns are bigger, but the taste is pretty much the same as shrimp. I love shrimp and grits. I decided to get a couple of pounds plus a pound of crawfish. There’s nothing more Southern than a crawfish boil. I added them to the list.
We might be low on barbeque sauce. It would be a sin if we ran out. I’d better get a few bottles. It’s on the list. I made it over to the vegetable section. I fingered the list-peppers, cilantro, and basil. Hmm! What color peppers, red, yellow or green? I’ll get some of each. She’ll be pleased with my innovation and decision-making skills.
I grabbed an ear of corn and pulled back the shucks. James was right, these looked good. I grabbed six. I hate these flimsy plastic bags they have for produce. They're hard to open, and the corn drops right through them. Useless.
I wondered why they called them ears of corn. Google would know the answer, but I’m not supposed to dally, so I’ll check later. Walking toward the checkout, I grabbed three lemons. They’re used with everything – like bacon. Oh! That's another item I should get. I added corn, lemons, and bacon to the list.
Ice, I need to get ice. Every party I’ve ever been to runs short on ice. One bag or two? Two, we’ll need two. . . large bags. I should have picked it up when I got the beer. No, this is better. It might have melted, good decision. I wrote it down. Bacon was in the cooler next to the ice. That's a lucky break. No need to search for it. Two pounds should do it.
Time to check out. No need to dally. This took a lot longer than I expected. It was James, he slowed me down with all the chit chat.
As I stood in line, I wondered if I needed more beer. I should have gotten a case. Now the little voice sounded more like my wife. We have more than enough.
I looked at the checker, “I’ll be back in a jiffy.” I sprinted to the liquor aisle and picked up a case of Mud Dauber Black Gold. I’ve had it before. I didn’t want to take a chance with a full case of Turkey Trot Mississippi brown. I made it back to the checkout just before my last item was scanned. I grabbed a bag of M&M’s, the healthy ones with nuts and threw them on the conveyor belt next to the case of beer. The checker looked a little agitated, so I felt the need to explain my last purchase.
“Chocolate gives me an energy boost and the nuts . . . well, they're healthy."
“Healthy?” he questioned.
“Healthyish.” I held my hands out like I had just turned water into wine, then added M&M’s to the list.
“Do you have a senior discount?”
“Yes, but you have to be sixty-five.” The clerk eyed me up and down. “How old are you?”
“Fifty-five.”
“So, not a senior.”
“Some places consider age fifty-five as a senior.”
"Sorry we don't, and senior discounts don’t apply to alcohol which would negate the majority of your purchase.”
“Hey, be nice.” I noticed the roses by the checkout, an impulse item. “Add one of these to the total. It’s for my wife.”
“No kidding,” the clerk commented. “Do you think a rose will make up for the wine and all the beer you’ve bought?”
“It’s a red rose.”
“Thanks, I know most colors.”
They bagged my groceries. I paid, then wheeled my bounty out the door. Just as I crossed over the threshold to the parking lot, I caught the enticing scent of barbeque. I couldn’t believe my nose, but it never failed me in the past. I spotted a guy grilling BBQ ribs next to the cart corral. I asked what was going on. He said the store held barbeques twice a month and sold the ribs for ten dollars a slab. What a great idea and a great price as well. They’re already cooked. All I had to do was heat them up. I couldn't pass this up. The list had grown. There was no more space on the front side of the shopping list, so I flipped it over and added the ribs as the first item on the back.
I was feeling confident on the drive home. I got some great bargains. I pulled in to the subdivision, and there were two young girls selling lemonade for charity. I stopped and got a glass and gave them a big tip. I paid cash, so no need to add this to the list.
I noticed my wife looked frazzled when I walked in. “It’s about time. What took you so long? You’re as slow as molasses in the wintertime.”
“It was a pretty long list, but I got everything on it.”
“It wasn’t long when I gave it to you. It only had four items on it.”
“Four, you mean fourteen.” I waved her over. “Hey! These bags are heavy. Do you want to help me bring them in?”
“Can’t you handle it? I’m busier than ants at a picnic.”
“Of course! Look! I bought you a rose.”
“Thanks. How much beer and wine did you buy?”
“It’s a . . . red rose.”
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