E1

Bill Hunt

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With only a month or so until Kenny comes marching home, or waddling home or whatever cowboys do when they come back from Calgary, Debbie and I are resigned to one inescapable truth: we will never get it right.

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The grocery shopping that is.

Kenny's departure for the wild, wild west knocked the equilibrium of our cupboards all out of whack. Oh, it's not all Kenny's fault, I suppose. As a 20-year-old with a job and a van of her own, Shannon's comings and goings are somewhat unpredictable as well. So our dilemma this summer has been difficult.

What to buy? When to buy it? Or do you just want to eat out?

Alas, there has been much more of the latter than the former over these last couple of months. Cooking for three is rare; cooking for two leaves a nasty trail of dishes and cooking for one - Debbie's lot in life at various times this summer with both Shannon and I on the night shift - is not much fun.

It is, however, still a lot of fun to go buy the groceries, as I discovered again this past Sunday when it came time to replenish the weekly provisions. Actually, it had been more like 10 days or so since our last foray for supplies. We were pretty much down to the basics and running low on those, which is how we found ourselves in the Sobeys parking lot at high noon Sunday, waiting for the doors to open.

Imagine our surprise to discover we had company. Lots of company. In fact, they were lined up at the door to get in, just like at the clinic. Last one in gets the cart with the wonky wheel!

While amazed, Debbie and I agreed we weren't going to stand in line at the Sobeys. Costco, maybe. But Sobeys? We weren't that hungry. We'd wait in the car.

Good thing, too. This guy pulled into the parking lot next to us - into the very next space, no less. And his driver's side door came perilously close to my passenger side.

Well, Debra Joy is still a little sensitive about her new Jeep.

"Watch the door, watch the door," she says, sucking in her breath a bit. "If you hit my new car, I'm going to have to get out of this car, tear off your arm and beat you with it!" she says. "While he calls 9-1-1," she says.

She's talking to the guy in the other car. Thank goodness the window is rolled up.

No harm done. The doors are open now, we're in the second wave after the initial stampede for shopping carts and we're in business. It's buy one, get one free on the grapes. Debbie buys one.

"It's buy one, get one free," I point out. "We'll never eat all those," she says. "Never mind."

So we get one big lot of grapes - which I should point out, are pretty much gone.

She's handed me three ballots that go in boxes marked "Produce,-Meat" and "Bakery," at the far corner of the store. By the time I get back, she's done three aisles and we're closing in on the cereal choices.

Cream of Wheat for her. Alpha-Bits for him.

"Kenny's not here," she reminds me. I remind her that I still live there and I like Alpha-Bits, thank you very much.

There's more in there, of course: bananas and peaches and salad stuff and so on.

I go ahead in the dairy aisle to get the cheese slices and bring back the 16 thick ones.

"What are you buying those for?" she snaps.

"Well, there's only 16 of them," I note. "We don't need 24."

"I don't want those," she says somewhat haughtily.

A nearby shopper chuckles. She's seen this movie before. We get the 24. Dare I point out we still have about 22 of them in the fridge?

A quick sweep of bakery, frozen foods, a swing through meat, a pause over the egg rolls - too many carbs, not enough flavour - and we're at the checkout.

"She really shouldn't wear a bikini," Debbie says as she begins to pile the provisions on the conveyer belt.

"What?"

"Britney, dear, Britney!" she says, nodding at the Globe or the Star or one of those sensationalist supermarket tabs.

It wasn't that long ago that Debbie's goal was to have a Britney-esque, um, derriere, mind you. I don't say a word.

"The Hogans need money," she points out. "Do you suppose we should send them some?"

"What?"

She nods at another cover. The Hulk is apparently destitute.

I guess we could send along the money we're saving on groceries.

If there's one thing this summer has taught me however, it's that, even if we never get the groceries right while the kids are away, Debbie and I are going to be fine.

We still have fun. She makes me laugh every day.

We're not going to be one of those couples that has only the kids in common.

We're not going to look at each other across the breakfast table one day after the kids are gone and think: "What are we doing here?"

We'll be at the Coffee Mill.

Bill Hunt is a staff writer at The Daily Gleaner. He can be reached at huntsie@hotmail.com