Pop made it through another week. He was up and eating when we arrived last. We made a plate of Thanksgiving meal to take over today. Thank you to everyone who has been praying for us.
Tuesday brought my wife to the peak of excitement with Thanksgiving just two days away. We spent the morning with her repeatedly announcing the plans and schedule for the turkey. Then our daughter took Tammy shopping. They left the house at ten in the morning only needing a few things from the grocery store. Four hours later they returned from their excursion into shopping.
Our favorite grocery store sits twenty minutes from our house. It takes me twenty minutes to gather everything on an extensive list and return within the hour. If Tammy comes with me, it takes forty minutes in the store. She takes even longer when shopping for clothes and items for the house.
Like a good number of women, my wife is a shopper. She will pick our usual brand and compare it to other brands and sizes. After examining for a few minutes, she drops the usual item in the cart for purchase. This picky selection of goods more than doubles the time for the shopping experience. I will pick things on the list, gather them, and place them in the cart to expedite the gathering of the list.
Tammy claims I do not shop, I buy. Almost thirty years ago, I required a new belt. We stop by the big blue box store with smiley faces and buy one in under five minutes. She still holds it against me to this day that she made it in and out of the giant store in such a quick fashion. She still suffers withdrawals from the distasteful experience.
I pride myself on how fast I can get in and out of a store. For a while there, I made a list of goods on a spreadsheet to arrange them in order to match the layout of the store. One might see me weaving in and out of the lanes, around slow-moving people, just to set a new record of minimal time.
Tammy views my buying habits as distasteful and maybe even a little ill-moral. For me to follow her around a store while she peruses every item in the multitude of selections is a fate far worse than anything Torquemada could demonstrate.
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