It’s the little things. They can knock the crap out of you or sweep you up into the heavens. Some will stop you dead in your tracks while others actually encourage you want to run, like a bat outta hell, to anywhere else on the planet.
Finding a $10 bill with no one anywhere nearby who might have dropped it: good. Stumbling upon a 75% off plus a $5 discount with a $20 off coupon to use next week at your favorite store…or any store: really good. Mistakenly grabbing the one-size-down jeans and actually being able to button them without lying across the bed, breaking a sweat while breaking your body to get them on: totally awesome.
Catching sight of the same car that your late father used to drive turning into what had been his favorite place to grab coffee and a donut: ugh. Heading out the front door to get the mail, tripping over your own feet and landing on your knees: ugh. Pulling your car out of the garage after not having driven it for a few days only to discover that the entire front quarter panel is smashed in: yeah, that one sucked.
Nothing major. No big deals. Just enough to tip you ever so slightly (or, if you are me, not so slightly) off your axis. Yeah, it’s the little things. Today, it was little things that made me laugh, sometimes to the point of crying. Not, thankfully, going over the edge to full on sobbing which, I must admit, has been known to happen. And all it took was a trip to the local supermarket.
It was early afternoon, but it might just as easily been hours later given the fact that Barry and I had been up, out of the house and running around since 7 a.m. The car was full of stuff we had accumulated throughout the day and the decision to stop at the market to pick up a few things was one which neither one of us was really in the mood for. However, the lack of milk, eggs and bananas – the true sign of no food in the house – urged us from laziness to adultness. We were tired, hungry and wet from the run in from the parking lot as we searched for the least soaked of the carts. By the time we hit the cheese aisle (also known as Aisle 1), we were already over it, yet persevered and loaded up on all the basics.
Our cart full, we took our place in line and, for once, did not choose the one hosting the last American on earth writing a check. As Barry began to unload our selections, shaking his head upon discovery of the few things I might have tossed in without him noticing (I really cannot live in a home without an emergency Pop Tart supply. I’ve tried, but life is too short. Remember: it’s the little things) I pulled out my phone and opened the camera. Because Barry knows me all too well, he knew that it was him against me and he wasn’t going down without a fight.
Let me share.
Here’s Barry, knowing full well what is going on behind him (that being me with my iPhone). He is aggressively ignoring me in the hopes that I will give up. I won’t.
Here he is attempting to be Mr. Serious. About loading groceries onto a conveyor belt.
Okay, this is when things start to get fun. See the lady standing at the cart behind Barry? Well, her name is Rosemary. You will note that she is laughing. Barry asked her, more than once, if I was still standing behind him trying to take a picture. She lied. Then she told me that she has four grown sons and, “they are all pains in the ass, too!” Ah, the sisterhood.
Next up, we have my husband, in a show of incredible maturity, attempting to shield his face with a package of pita. Yes, pita. Seriously, dude: try a salami, or a loaf of Italian bread or even the pomegranates…but pita?
That’s Pauline at the register. She tried to keep a straight face, but couldn’t. I am quite certain our shenanigans were the highlight of her shift. So, too, Edgar, the gentleman with the white hair…but he was trying to respect the Bro-Code and kept his hysteria under wraps.
By now, customers and employees on either side of our register are watching, waiting with bated breath to see how things wind up…who will prevail: woman or man? (Duh)
Eventually, we had to end all the fun and games…we had perishables in the cart, after all. We headed out to the car, bags in tow. I am fairly confident that we got a round of applause for having entertained everyone on this rainy, dreary day. As we loaded up the car, I turned to see Rosemary coming out with her groceries. She all but high-fived me and laughed her way back to her Chrysler.
Barry has been down this road with me before. He pretends to be embarrassed. He isn’t. He feigns being merely tolerant. Trust me: he loves it. And I love him for his willingness to allow me to indulge in the little things…
This is what he looks like when I am not torturing him. Cute, right?