If I were a wealthy man, I would be the type of guy who needed a personal shopper but resisted said personal shopper until stumbling through a turn of events worthy of a Hallmark Holiday Classic movie. I own two pairs of Firehose Pants from Duluth Trading Company—one brown, one khaki. I have two identical pairs of shorts—one green, one khaki. I’ve worn the same khaki winter coat since the year 1993…along with the same pair of Ugg boots (from before they become popular). The color of said boots? You guessed it, khaki.
The moral of this story is that I don’t really shop. When I have to shop, I buy whatever grabs my eye first. I buy whatever looks fun. I buy whatever will get me out of the store, and I go home.
The wife, on the other hand, is a kung-fu-black-belt shopper. She studies a store for weeks in order to best understand its vulnerabilities. She scrutinizes the store app, the best time of the week, and the best time of the day for making purchases. She purges any hint of impulsivity from her regimen. When the time comes, she gets in, she gets the best deals, and she gets out. She slaps anyone who tries to sell her anything not on the list (according to unverified source).
With all this in mind, you can imagine the comedy of errors that might ensue on the rare occasions that we shop together. One such occasion has been recorded in the annuls of our marriage as the Candied Cranberry Affair. I’ll recount it for you now.
A friend needed to make a Costco run. Due to the pandemic of 2020, and the decaying nature of American society, we decided on the tactic of safety in numbers. Besides, the wife had been stalking Costco for over a week as it was. So we went together. We gassed up the rig, loaded extras water and weapons, and planned our approach (i.e. we located a parking spot, appropriated twin shopping carts, and flashed security our membership identities). So far, so good.
Upon entry into the building, we decided to divide and conquer. My wife took her cart and went solo in order to optimize her time via the shortest possible shopping path. I stuck with our friend who, being in a wheelchair, is the funner option when shopping. (Aside: You haven’t shopped until you’ve pushed someone in a wheelchair while they push a gigantic Costo shopping cart. Besides, pushing her gives me a duty other than actual shopping. For the most part, she barks commands and I respond.)
Everything went without event until arriving at the produce…
Our friend instructs me to toss an oversized bag of fresh cranberries into the oversized cart. I pick up the bag. Fresh cranberries, I ask. I didn’t know there was such a thing. What do you do with these? Just eat them?
Oh no, my friend says. We candy them. It’s the greatest thing ever. My daughter loves them. It’s fun, and it’s really easy. She goes on to briefly describe the process of soaking cranberries in a simple maple syrup and then rolling them in sugar. Say no more. I’m sold. Simple. Delicious. Fun. And, I mean, they’re cranberries so they’re like healthy, right? I know just enough to know that cranberries are king when it comes to disease fighting antioxidants. And we’re living during a frickin’ pandemic! I’d be a negligent father to NOT buy these cranberries for my loving family.
I toss a second oversized bag of fresh cranberries in the cart for myself without a second thought. I’m a living hero. Father of the year. Ten minutes later we orchestrate a planned rendezvous with the wife. After distracting her with my standard, “What in the world could that be?” routine, I attempt to smuggle the cranberries into her oversized cart. She senses the disturbance in her shopping chi and catches me red-handed.
Cranberries? She asks. What am I supposed to do with these? How much do these cost? She drills me with slits for eyes.
I enter defensive mode. They’re healthy. They’re fun. We’ll candy them. Everybody will love them. The store is basically giving them away. We’re solving world hunger. I never learned to read! [cue fake tears]
Fine, fine, the wife says. Just stop making a scene, and don’t try this again—she points at her eyes and then points at me—because I’m watching you.
I managed to get through the remainder of the shopping trip without another impulse buy, thus tamping the fury of the kung-fu shopper. But the arduous Candied Cranberry Affair had only just begun.
To be continued in next week’s email… [mwahahaha! I know! Your first cliffhanger email!]
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At the Desk This Week
I’ve gotten back into the heart-pounding action this week. It’s always fun to send enemies flying with the powers of your mind. I’m still working on episode four of Season three of the Green Ones. The main protag is getting a crash course in using her telekinetic abilities to defend herself and her friends from an attack from jacked-up super-human twitchers. Good times. By the end of it, I will attempt to ratchet up the stakes a couple more levels…because that’s what I do! I don’t think any of these characters are gonna die at this point, but you never know when the need to kill a main character may arise. Sometimes it just happens. Writing is a dangerous business…for my characters.
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